Next World Series | Vol. 6 | Families First [Battle Grounds]

by Ewing, Lance K.

  I was pleased and relieved, as I had vowed to Joy to take the three home, however I had to. Now she was getting first-class tickets on the safest transportation around.

  “I now introduce you,” said the Colonel, “to Texas’ toughest cowboy and a straight shooter, if there ever was one—Jessup!”

  “Howdy folks,” he said, walking out in the same overalls and big hat he was wearing when we first met him in Plano. He told his story much the same as we heard it before, including the good-for-nothing son-in-law who was probably destroying the place as we spoke, and even a few stories about the young boy he and his wife adopted when we were there. Unfortunately, his parents never made it back.

  A few days after we left our home in McKinney, the Colonel looked him up at Samuel’s request. “He’s a good man,” Samuel told him…“married my sister; and besides, you need a stronghold north of Dallas. Pay him a visit, if you will, and see if you can help.”

  “Well, here I am, thanks to the Colonel. And the missus couldn’t be better,” he added, tipping his hat to Samuel. “As you heard, we were the first Chapter to be recognized and, as he already said, I ain’t typically fond of the Government. We had one hell of a fight on our hands, though, and after you all came through,” he added—pointing at me, Vlad and Lonnie—“well, we were at a pretty low point. A man and his family alone cannot hold back a herd of cattle—good people, I’m sure, but now desperate and wild, running right through our land and burning everything they saw.

  “Of course, with the Colonel and his friends, we protected a boundary around the property, similar in size to this Valley but flat as a pancake. Like an invisible shield in one of those comics-turned-movies, they went around all sides and kept going on up to Frisco and McKinney—up north, for those not familiar. I’m sorry to say that your house, Lance, is probably not standing anymore.”

  “It’s okay,” I replied. “I didn’t even lock the door when we left.”

  “Now that’s the spirit we’ve been missing in this country! By the way, you owe me a Scotch!” he said, pointing me out once again.

  “I do?” I questioned but with a smile.

  “Yep, just because I’m here,” he replied, with a laugh. “As for the rest of you, congratulations on a good fight for your freedom. Anybody concerned about your rights as a free citizen need not worry under this commander. I’ll be around for a couple of days to answer questions about how it all works and give a few classes on what we can all expect in the future.”

  Jake would have liked seeing him again, I thought. Strange coincidence, if it could even be called that—the two would miss each other by only one day.

  “I’ll be staying with my brother-in-law while I’m here, but I have an open-door policy. Bend my ear all you want for a glass of Scotch or lemonade and some good conversation.”

  * * * *

  “Let’s all break for lunch and meet at the cemetery in two hours,” said John.

  Joy and I weren’t the first ones to arrive, but somewhere towards the front at least.

  The Ranch would hold their service first, followed by The West, with separate cemeteries even though both would be united as one soon enough.

  Gravesites were prepared just this morning, with the exception of Jake’s. Various ones I had not met, from both communities, spoke about those lost.

  Nancy asked both Joy and me to speak about Jake. I told a few stories, mostly the ones that had been floating around in my brain lately. Joy gave a sweet account that only a woman could about his more caring side, including stories about Nancy, his son, Suzie, Veronica, Tina, and others in the group, and watching out for our boys.

  The service ended as Jake’s casket was placed inside a waiting helicopter. We sent our friends Nancy and Danny off with well wishes and a get-home-free card if they didn’t find what they were looking for.

  Three hours later, long after The West’s funerals were done, I got the word from Vlad.

  “Nancy and little Danny are safe and sound with their family, both hers and Jake’s. They laid their dragon slayer to rest in the family plot.”

  All was not right with the world, but it was better than yesterday—that I would swear to.

  * * * *

  I slept well that night, as I’m sure we all did, waking up early. I had meetings all day. It seemed strange, like something we used to do in our Chiropractic offices. We had three when the power went out, and before then, my business partner and I spent our days going from one to the other, in meetings most of each day. Now we were not talking patients, numbers, stats, or finances but literally life-changing strategies that, if they failed, wouldn’t produce a bad collection month but quite literally the end of days for us all.

  Most meetings were with the Ranch crew, Samuel and Jessup. The Colonel would be back to pick him up tomorrow, so today was the day. I had often wondered what happened to him and his family, figuring they would perish defending their ranch. He gave us insight I honestly had not heard before, about how things really worked now. Samuel just nodded his head in agreement, as if he had already heard everything about the Chinese plan with the UN—as peacekeeping invaders to take over our country and export everything, from food grown on our soil with our own equipment, and eventually local labor, to timber, natural gas, coal and minerals. Half of it was brand-new to me. At least I knew it wasn’t just some random guess or crazy conspiracy theory, and the other half I already knew.

  * * * *

  I made good on the Scotch—or was it two? It was good to see Jessup, and I introduced my boys to a real cowboy.

  “Like that guy in City Slickers, right?” asked Hendrix, referring to the character Curly, played by Jack Palance.

  “Yes, that’s right, son. Just like him, but even tougher!”

  “And don’t you forget it!” said Jessup, in his lifelong smoker’s voice.

  “No, sir…I mean yes, sir…I won’t forget,” Hendrix replied, finally getting it out.

  I put my hand on his sandy-colored head and told him he was a good son.

  * * * *

  Joy and I spent the evening with just us and the boys. We brought supper home and ate as a family. I was as relaxed as I could ever remember, even in the old-world. Sure, we would have other fights down the road, but not today.

  “I’ve got a free day coming up,” I told her. “I want to take the boys up on the mountain and show them a few of my favorite spots.”

  “We can’t just take off, hiking around up there!” she said.

  “Yes, you’re right, I guess. That’s why we’re taking the four-wheelers. I’ll take two on mine, and you can take one on yours. What do you say?”

  “No way, Jose! That guy named Jimmy got killed up there—and not too long ago, either.”

  “Right now is probably the calmest it’s ever going to be on the mountain for a long time,” I pointed out. “Can I at least talk to Mac about it?”

  She conceded on that plan but no more. We vowed to take each step one day at a time and not lose the specialness of a simple family dinner by candlelight.

  * * * *

  “How do you think this is going to go?” asked Joy the next morning.

  I didn’t have to ask what she meant, as it was the topic of the day amongst nearly all of the adults.

  “I don’t know. After Hurricane Rita, other cities saw evacuees from New Orleans; thousands were put up in FEMA trailers, like they’re doing now.”

  The entire afternoon, trucks went by—with trailers full of trailers, ironically. All headed for the reservoir and moved into tight neat rows.

  “They look like the same trailers they put in Lake Charles, Louisiana, after Hurricane Rita. There were thousands of them, as a whole community was built right across the road from my sister’s place. First, it was okay, as everyone seemed relieved to be somewhere—anywhere not flooding—but then it changed. Over the five years or so that they were there, trailers fell into disrepair and the community as a whole was no longer a safe place for children. Ther
e was an entire security force designated to that one neighborhood. That’s my concern for here,” I told Joy. “I’m not saying they are bad people, including those migrating to Lake Charles, but when you put a large population of people together all at once who don’t know each other, things can get dicey quick. Then they have to work the land and grow food, and what if they refuse? What then?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Joy responded. “I was thinking the same thing. Either way, they will be here sooner than we think.”

  * * * *

  At the same time as we were speaking, Mac was having a later-than-usual meeting with the Council, John, Bill, Samuel and Cory to back him up as needed. While they had all reluctantly agreed with the Colonel on the new plan, the details needed to be sorted out and a majority of issues voted on. Mac was to remain head of security for the Ranch, and now The West property as well. His team would remain intact and answer only to him.

  Cory would regain his title as Chief of Police of Loveland’s town, if only for the sake of clout, as he would be responsible for overseeing the new Valley inhabitants. His son, Cameron, would act as deputy, as well as another five hand-chosen from the new group, once interviewed. They were tasked with keeping this end of the Valley civil and safe. Cory and Cameron would be moved into the house furthest from the Ranch and closest to the lake and new community.

  They would oversee an initial population of just under 100 families—about 80 single men and women, and around 400 total, children included.

  The Colonel promised to provide food and shelter for 400, extending one year, and filters for turning the reservoir’s water into drinking water. He even added a doctor and medic, thanks to Max and Baker’s granddaughter volunteering, in exchange for a Government position down the road.

  The new inhabitants were brought through the southern border in Army trucks and introduced to their new security detail and medical crew. Cory made it clear that rules would apply to the community as a whole.

  Rule number one: No infighting, no matter what the charge. All disputes would be settled by a team put together by Cory from the population, including two attorneys, one female and the other male; three impartial individuals, as much as he could tell in the interview, to play the role of mediators; and one retired criminal court Judge, who didn’t mind volunteering.

  “I’ve got nothing to do, so why not?” the retired Judge told Cory. “It won’t be the first volunteer work I’ve done. Of course, we’re all working for room and board now,” he added.

  “It’s good to have something to work on, though, wouldn’t you agree?” asked Cory.

  “Yes, you’re right about that. I thought I would just go fishing and watch TV when I retired a few years back,” said the Judge. “Now fishing is no longer a sport but a necessity, and as for TV…well, that’s a wash too.”

  Cory smiled as the trailers were secured in place, putting his arm over his son’s shoulder.

  “You missed this, Dad—the leadership part—I can tell,” said Cameron.

  “Yes, son, I did. Mac is great to work for, but it’s something else to lead.”

  “Cory, we’ve got something being delivered down here,” came the call from the southern border. “They are asking where you want it.”

  “What is it?” asked Cory, expecting food or medical supplies.

  “The first three trucks are Porta Potties, and the next two look like those houses you used to see going down the freeway with the wide-load sign, except these have bars on all the windows.”

  “Well, I guess that’s not a surprise,” replied Cory. “There are always a few bad apples in every bunch; send them on down.”

  “Every town needs a jail,” said the Judge matter of factly. “I’ll do my best to keep most of them out of it but can’t promise anything.”

  “I’m sure you will, Judge,” replied Cory. “I think I’ll hold off on appointing a jailer for now, though,” he added.

  * * * *

  Joy and I both met with Mac the next morning at breakfast, and I knew it was a big ask with everything going on. But once I pointed out the three locations on the map, one of which I had already taken them to a couple of years ago, he said to hold tight—he had an idea.

  He was on the radio and back in 15 minutes.

  “Here’s the deal,” Mac said. “My crew has been all over the mountain for days, and it’s as safe as it will ever be for a short trip—no overnights, though. Your parents, Lance, told me of a spot you called the most peaceful place on earth, and I had tried to find it several times over the years. They said you left something there?”

  “Yes, sir,” I replied—“a pile of rocks stacked ten high, as they do on the big mountain climbs. There may be others like it, but this stack has seven of the ten rocks not found anywhere close to here. That’s how you know you’re there.”

  “That settles it, then. I’ll go with you, and I just radioed Drake, who also wants to tag along.”

  “If we have enough four-wheelers, can I bring Vlad if he’s up to it?” I asked, figuring we would likely not get a second chance at this soon, or maybe ever again.

  “Yes, and yes,” he replied, “but we need to make a stop at the MacDonalds’ place on the way.”

  “Sure. Fine by me. That Willie is a funny guy. Stubborn as a mule but funny still,” I said, remembering the night years ago when he caught me and some friends in one of our favorite spots, but apparently on his property. He started with a lecture, if I remember correctly, and ended with a few jokes and eating half of our ravioli. After that, we were welcome anytime he gave us permission.

  * * * *

  Preparing to head out, with Vlad in tow, I was more excited about something many would find to be no big deal, but to me it was everything to share this place with Joy and the boys. After all, it was my favorite place on the entire planet, and I brought a rock all the way from Texas to add to the pile when we found Hendrix.

  Joy finally agreed as well, with Mac’s assurance that we would be watched by his crew the entire way.

  Thirty minutes later, we were off, headed first to the MacDonald house.

  Mac was surprised, as was Drake, when Willie stood up on the front porch and reached out to shake hands with him and me.

  “Hey, there. I remember you,” he said to me. “You were just a boy, but you always wanted to camp on my property!”

  “Yes, sir. That’s right!” I replied. “And if I remember right, you ate half of our food that first time,” reaching out to shake his hand.

  “Yeah, I remember that,” he laughed. “I caught some flak from the missus about that, but raviolis are my favorite!”

  “Is it still there? The campsite, I mean.”

  “Just as you left it, I’m sure,” Willie told me. “Haven’t been down that way in a few years, though.”

  “Mind if I take my boys down to take a look?” I asked.

  “Have at it; just let me know if you find anything new!”

  “Like squatters?” I asked.

  “Yes, just like that…plus anything else. And Mac, fill me in on all the smoke I’ve seen lately. Do we need to be concerned?”

  “I don’t know, Willie. Lance and his group here were the last to see it above Estes Park a few days back.”

  “What’s it look like, Lance?”

  “Well, not great. We got ahead of it, but without current news I’m not sure where it’s at or if it will come down this way. The smoke in our Valley hasn’t gotten any better, though. On the other hand, I don’t see flames on our side of the mountain. We’re headed up to the Saddle this morning, so I’ll get a look from the top of Green Mountain and let you know.”

  “My other property…our other property…” he corrected himself as his wife walked out to say hello. “You can see it from the top of the mountain—with binoculars, of course. I’m getting too old to hike up there; even the short walk from where the four-wheelers can get to. Can you give me an update?”

  “Yes, sir, I can do that. And you�
��re right—it’s one heck of a hike from the Saddle to the top of Green Mountain. Right, Drake?” I said, looking around but not seeing him. Mac saw him slipping away with Whitney for a short talk…or whatever teenagers do these days, Mac thought.

  I was referring to the part of the Saddle containing my favorite spot—this slice of heaven on earth, and then the short but nearly vertical quarter-mile climb to the top of the cliff we used to rock-climb as teenagers. That spot was the only way to get a real picture of the multiple valleys below; and apparently, the MacDonalds’ other property, now presumably occupied by Ralph and his cohorts.

  Now, not only was I on a mission to show my boys and Joy my favorite place. I also wanted to get a peek at the group I had heard about from Mac and my parents, as well as the fire that never quite seemed to burn out.