"It's like this, man. We started out wanting to use guns—just like everyone else. Okay, but you know what? We lost people fast. Everybody got cocky. Everybody decided they were Rambo, that they were going to save the world. We got into a lot of gunfights. There was a lot of bloodshed—on all sides. It wasn't pretty, man."
The Professor nodded. "It was a direct result of our use and reliance upon those crude weapons of destruction and death," the Professor said, waving again at Erik and Ted's rifles, "that led us into the present situation where we have nothing but a stalemate. On top of the utter stupidity and loss of life immediately following the collapse, the addition of firearms into the equation proved too volatile for us.” He sighed.
“I admit, at first even I was lured by the seductive power of guns," he said, the last word uttered as if he had to spit something vile from his mouth. "But after our second or third fight, as we dug the graves of the fallen, I realized the only thing the gun would bring us is death. I decreed all guns would be locked up henceforth," he said puffing on his chest, "and since then I'm proud to say we have lost only six souls."
Erik watched the Professor as he looked down his nose at the two of them, almost daring them to challenge his assertion.
Okay, I’ll bite. "What about the other groups—the Rebels and Jocks?" Erik asked.
The Professor sighed and slipped further into his chair. "The same cannot be said for those misguided fools. Those children—for I truly think of them as such—who call themselves the Jocks," he said, his fingers making quotes in the air, "would like nothing more than to rely on firearms. They chose to keep weapons close to their hearts. Unfortunately, or rather fortunately for us, we still have the upper hand because we have more. The Rebels on the other hand," the Professor said, sweeping his hand toward the west, "have a much larger stockpile of weapons. It almost rivals our own, so I'm told."
Ted put his water bottle on the table, the plastic making a sound that caused everyone to look at him. "And what's stopping them from rolling through here and wiping you out? What's stopping them from just taking over?" Ted looked down the street through the trees. "A couple cars parked across the road certainly ain’t gonna stop anybody who's armed and determined."
A sickly smile spread across the Professor's lips. "Now you're beginning to understand our true weapon. We have brokered an uneasy truce for one reason and one reason only: knowledge."
Ted looked at Erik. "What's that supposed to mean?"
The Professor sighed. "You, my friends, have the temperament of my students, but the instincts of our rivals. In time, I believe you could be one of us. So I suppose I should explain things more clearly."
Erik clenched his teeth at the insult. "Just be sure to go extra slow for me, Professor, sir," Erik replied.
If the Professor took umbrage with Erik’s words, he didn't show it. "The reason we have this unofficial truce—which I want to stretch into a lasting peace—is knowledge. The knowledge I have here," he said as he tapped side of his head. "The knowledge my students possess, the knowledge of thousands of books in the library across the street. That knowledge is invaluable.” He steepled his hands and regarded Erik through half-lidded eyes. “Do you recall a saying from the time before the collapse? Knowledge is power."
"Sure, everybody remembers that,” replied Ted.
Professor nodded. "If knowledge was power then, it is the ultimate power now."
Erik felt the coolness of the air for the first time as the Professor spoke his last words. The students nodded. Erik waited for them to stand and genuflect as a group.
"I sit atop a vast stockpile of weapons and ammunition, but choose not to use them. Instead I use the knowledge locked in our collective intelligence," the Professor said sweeping his hand over his loyal subjects sitting on the grass at his knees. “We have used reason and logic to deal with the barbarians at our gates. As a consequence, even they have come to realize truth of our enlightened ways."
A crooked grin spread across Ted's face. "You gave them medicine and treated their sick and injured, didn’t you? They know you've got medicine."
The smile flickered on the Professor's face for just an instant, but Erik saw anger flashed in the man's eyes as Ted stole his thunder.
"Yes."
Ted nodded. "I see what's going on here," he said, staring at the students on the grass. "That's pretty smart, by the way," he said to the Professor’s immediate satisfaction. "It's also pretty reckless.”
Erik watched the Professor’s eyebrows climb up.
“Has anybody been outside Newark?" Ted asked, then squinted. “You guys have any idea what the real world is like out there?"
Erik decided to jump in before Ted tipped his hand. "Roger told us about the U.N. radio broadcasts.” He caught Ted’s eye and hoped he got the message: follow my lead.
“They've heard a lot of stuff we haven't, Ted," Erik said, eliciting a smile from the Professor. Creepy bastard. "I think they understand how bad it is out there."
"Precisely. Which is why we've had no desire to go beyond the confines of Newark.” The Professor swept both arms out. "The university's College of Agricultural Sciences—a department which I chaired in better times, by the way—has provided me with everything we need to survive. I know what to do," he said ticking off the points on his fingers. "I have the workforce to carry out my plan, I have land, I have supplies, seeds for crops, and most importantly, I have my bees." He leaned back in his chair and smiled.
“How?” asked Ted. “We didn’t see anything on our way in to town and there’s no farm or anything around here…”
The Professor’s smile broadened. "The university maintains a working farm just southwest of that dreadful sports complex by the interstate."
"The stadium?”
The Professor shook his head sadly. "In the early days, it was the logical gathering point for information and supplies. Those that had, shared. Those that needed, traded services for food. Eventually, what was left of the local authorities gathered there and tried to entice the federal government to take over. I believe no one ever came—they made up signs proclaiming it to be a disaster relief zone on their own. The local citizenry flocked there, desperately hungry."
"What happened?" asked Erik.
"As usual, when a group of desperate hungry people are gathered in confined spaces and you have the influence of a pervasive gun culture," the Professor said, glancing at Ted, "a fight broke out. No one really knows who fired first, but the point is someone fired. Before long, the place was in flames and thousands of people perished—including most of the remaining civil authorities."
"We never saw another cop after that," added Roger. "Dark times, man."
Erik watched the Professor in the silence following Roger's statement. I wouldn't be surprised to hear you set that fire.
"But back to the honey," said Ted. "That's how you did it right? That’s how you brokered the truce? You hold the medicine so no one wants to mess with you. Honey is your weapon."
The Professor nodded but his eyes narrowed. "Honey has long been used by most civilizations capable of harvesting it as an antibiotic, it has excellent astringent properties. On top of that, it is highly nutritious and an excellent source of unrefined sugar. Without bees, we would all be extinct."
Ted shot another glance at Erik. "So you trade peace for medicine derived from honey."
"That is correct," replied the Professor, once more looking down his nose. "Honey has never tasted so sweet." A few of the students tittered from the grass like well-trained monkeys.
"And what happens when some of the others figure out how to make it on their own?" asked Ted.
"Yeah, what's stopping the Rebels coming in here? You said they had a lot more guns than the than the Jocks, they could just take the medicine—"
The Professor’s face soured. "I prefer to use the term athletes. Jocks is derogatory, much like many of the words chosen to describe our friends the Rebels."
"Rebels? You me
an the Brotherhood?" asked Ted.
"Precisely. Our black brothers and sisters built this land as slaves hundreds of years ago. Is it not right that they should inherit at least a portion of this great country as their own?"
Erik tried to keep his face neutral. Where have I heard this before?
"The original 13 colonies wouldn't be here if it not for the slaves," parroted Roger.
"You got to be kidding me—" began Ted.
"I think what my friend is trying to say, is that we’re surprised they haven't claimed the entire country," blurted Erik. Come on, Ted, play along.
The Professor nodded. "A valid point. However, the Rebels are not above logic. They understand that slaves did not create the rest of the country, merely most of the South and the original colonies. The states out west were created after abolition. There is a movement gaining traction in fact, to proclaim San Francisco as the new national capitol."
Erik forced himself not to roll his eyes. California—you've got to be fucking kidding me. He forced himself to nod instead.
The Professor smiled again. "Most of the upper Midwest and the Pacific Northwest was purchased, rather than conquered. The people who carved those states out of the wilderness were settlers, not slaves."
Erik frowned. “I doubt you’d find many Native Americans who’d agree with that assessment.”
The Professor steepled his hands again, inspecting Erik like a cat watching a mouse. "Are you a student of history then?"
Erik forced himself smile openly. "Yes, sir. In fact, I was just finishing up my master’s in education when everything went crazy. I was on track to be a history teacher in Florida."
"Ah!” the Professor said with a clap of his hands. “A kindred spirit! I knew there was something I liked about you," he said, pointing a bony finger at Erik. "It’s settled then! You shall provide training to my people—without the use of weapons—to defend ourselves. In return, we shall provide you with all the antibiotics you need including all the food and water needed for you and your group to fully recover your health and strength."
"That’s more than gracious of you, sir," Erik said with a nod. He saw an angry look from Ted and moved his hand slightly under the table to wave him off.
Ted got the message and reluctantly leaned back in his chair. "Well, if you two are in agreement it sounds good to me," he said, his words carrying more enthusiasm than his face.
"Excellent!" the Professor said, clapping his hands. He stood up, followed immediately by his student entourage. "As the first order of business for our new venture, I propose we collect all your weapons and ammunition. Fear not," he said, one hand raised toward Ted. "We have a secure facility and I'm the only one with the key. Roger will take them when you're ready. If at some point you so desire to leave our happy commune in the future, I will deliver these weapons of death and destruction back to your hands so you may remove them from our presence.” He extended a hand toward Ted.
“It is my sincere hope, however you will see the error of your ways and join us here permanently."
Chapter 47
Disarm
ERIK WATCHED TED AS he methodically put all their weapons on the wooden table in the visitor's center lobby. Brin was upstairs, tending to Lindsay with the help of the Professor's resident nurse, Lucy. The Professor and most of his entourage had already left to return back to whatever building he used as his headquarters in the center of campus.
Erik figured he would have taken over the agricultural department buildings, or at least been somewhere closer to the food and water sources on the south campus. According to the Professor that was not necessary—they had plenty of people to run food and supplies back and forth.
"Man, this feels weird…" Erik said. "I didn't think I'd ever get used to carrying a rifle around when I first agreed to Captain Winters' proposal." He placed his rifle on the table, his hand lingering on the upper receiver. "And here I am feeling even more weird handing the damn thing in."
Ted frowned at him, hands on his hips. "You should feel weird. A soldier without a rifle is just a target." Ted reached over and picked up his own rifle. "And a citizen without a gun is just a subject."
He ejected the magazine and pulled one round free of the chamber. He handed Erik the magazine and then proceeded use the loose round to fiddle with the side of the rifle. Soon, Erik heard a click and the top half of the rifle separated.
Erik turned away and ejected the magazine from his own rifle and added it to the pile of ammunition they had on the other side of the table. When he had turned back, Ted had already ejected the locking pin from his rifle.
"I thought we were going to turn them in, not clean them."
Ted looked up, a crooked grin on his face. "I said I'd turn 'em in. I don't agree with it at all, but if that's what it takes to get Lindsay better, I'll do it and gladly." Ted looked down and lifted up the charging handle, removing the bolt assembly from his rifle. He put the body of the rifle on the table and examined the cylindrical, open-sided tube in his hand.
"I never said I'd hand over every part of the rifle." Ted continued: "I trust that limp-wristed Stalin out there as far as I can spit. Here," Ted said handing Erik the bolt assembly. "See that little clip there?"
Erik looked. "Yep."
"Pry that thing out and the firing pin will drop right out. They can have the rifles—we're keeping the firing pins." Ted moved to the first pistol, pulled back the slide and checked the chamber, then dropped the magazine out.
"Same thing for the pistols. When these guys take our weapons, all they're going to get are paperweights."
"I don't think they know how to use them anyway…" muttered Erik as he fumbled with the bolt assembly. Finally pulling the firing pin free, he looked at the needle-like object in his hand. "It's amazing—you take one little part out and none of it works."
Ted grunted. "I think you're right—these clowns probably don't know how to shoot, but if pushed too far, even the biggest pacifist knows how to pull a trigger."
Erik gathered the firing pins from all their weapons, sealed them in a baggie and dropped them in the thigh pocket on his cargo pants. "I'll keep these on me. I wouldn't put it past them to try and search our stuff when we're out training the troops."
"At least we still have our knives," said Ted as he stepped back to admire their handiwork. The table contained three reassembled pistols and two M4 rifles, piles of ammunition for each, along with spare magazines. Ted tossed the .223 round he'd used to disassemble the rifles onto the pile.
"Yeah, that bit about knives being 'tools not weapons' was genius," he said shaking his head. "Why some people can't figure out that a firearm is a tool too, is beyond me."
"Listen, you need to be on your best behavior when you take this stuff over to the armory," warned Erik. "These guys are obviously drinking the Kool-aid. They bought everything the U.N. is putting out there, hook line and sinker. You know what Roger told me?"
Ted carefully placed their weapons into a spare bag. "What?"
"He told me the Russians are here to save us. He's actually excited to meet them. They think the U.N. arrived to help us out of this mess. You believe that shit?"
Ted paused for a moment. "I'm not surprised, actually. Think about it," he said zipping up the duffel bag. "If the only communication you had was a small radio that only received signals from stations powerful enough to reach it—and those stations happen to be controlled by our enemies, what do you think you're going to hear?" He shook his head. "We don't have the Internet, there's no cell phones, and most of the people around here are dead." He stacked the ammo on top of the weapons.
"The only word that we're getting is coming from our enemies. So of course they're going to tell us everything is rosy and they're helping us. I don't blame these folks for believing the bullshit."
Erik blinked. "You don't?"
Ted zipped up the bag. "I blame them for getting behind that Prophet Professor of theirs without questioning anything. Did you see the
looks on their eyes out there? They look at the guy like he's some kind of savior. Hell, he knows a lot of stuff—so do I. It doesn't mean you're walking around following me like I'm some kind of academic messiah or something."
Erik nodded. "Yeah, that kind of freaks me out, too."
Ted slung the bag over his shoulder. "The quicker we get Lindsay back on her feet, the quicker we can get the hell out of here."
Erik folded his arms. "Maybe what we're doing is wrong."
Ted paused. "Say again?"
Erik looked at the floor. It was so hard to say out loud. "I've been thinking—”
"Here we go."
"I'm serious. Lindsay only got hurt because of me—”
"Come on, I thought we already went through this," Ted started.
"No, hear me out. I need to say this." Erik waited until Ted sighed and nodded. "I've been thinking. Maybe this trip we're on, this journey—maybe it's just too much, you know? Maybe we need to just find a safe spot and hole up for a while. See where we stand in the spring and then continue if that's what we decide."
Ted stared at him for a moment. "You know, I might've been willing to agree with you a few days ago, but after finding out what's going on in this town? No way. I want to bounce. Now."
"But—"
"No, Erik. This town is fucked up. No guns? Some kinda weird truce based on honey? The Brotherhood—yeah, I caught that—running free to the west and these guys are calling them freedom fighters?” He shook his head. “Screw that."
Erik shook his head. "I know! But you heard the way the Professor talked about how we should give the country to the Brotherhood. He really believes it, man," Erik groused. "My family's been here since the 1630s and we never had any slaves. They hacked a living out of the wilderness in Massachusetts on their own, fighting Indians the whole time. This whole thing about the country built on the backs of slaves is bullshit. Maybe the South was built on the backs of slaves, but not everywhere!"
"Either way," Ted said with a dismissive hand, "that's getting on 300 years ago. I'm willing to bet this Professor's gonna start having everybody apologize for it soon, too."
Dux Bellorum (Future History of America Book 3) Page 29