by Finley, Zack
He helped me realize the parallels between grief and an epic hike with a heavy pack. While my journey remained arduous, I continued by focusing on one foot in front of the other and refusing to stop. With time, the ruck weighed just as much, but I got stronger and learned how to carry the burden. While I still missed Irene every day, the pain evolved, becoming more of a familiar ache than a stabbing debilitating wound.
I hoped Carmine and Roger found similar solace, learning how to bear their grief without cratering. They needed to put one foot in front of the other for their grandchildren if for no other reason. Those kids already lost so much.
My mom refused to let me dwell in the dark place inside me. She changed the subject and forced me along for the ride. "We need to expose more of our malcontents to life outside the safety of our Valley."
"Where are you going with this?" my dad asked, going very still.
"Next apocalypse, I'm not letting any strangers in here until they spend months trying to make it on their own," she said. “Being cold and hungry brings a lot of things into focus.”
"Right, I think one apocalypse in our lifetime is one too many," he answered. "We can't rewind, so what are you considering to offset our mistake?"
"I developed a preliminary list of malcontents," my mom said. "We can assign them to go on deliveries or visits with the Defenders. They can see first hand what life is like outside the Valley protections."
"That might work for some," I said. "But no one believes we will expel them even if they undermine our survival. While our long-term allies view the Valley as a lifeboat, I fear too many of the newcomers view it as something we owe them."
"Anyone we evict will hate us," my dad said. "They will become enemies with knowledge that can hurt us. Much better if we help them understand why the restrictions exist."
"If having the entire world collapse isn't enough to convince them to conserve, I sure as hell don't know what will," my mom said, her face flushing. The raw fury in her voice shocked me.
"What do their sponsors say?" I asked.
"They are as frustrated as we are," my dad said. "Those we offered refuge to were decent neighbors. But we are all learning there is a big difference between someone you invite over for a neighborhood barbecue and someone you want to share a lifeboat with."
"I thought they vetted those who came?" I asked.
"They just eliminated those considered liars, thieves, and lazy bums," my mom said. "A much looser standard than we applied before the CME. I’m worried. We are moving into the labor-intensive spring and summer seasons. If they feel overworked now, what the hell will they think during planting?" Her face was still red, and her jaw clenched.
"Persuade the malcontents to leave, with something like a spring package," I said.
"What?" my parents asked in chorus.
"Offer to relocate select groups to nearby empty homesteads, with seeds, some tools, and some food. That gets them out of our hair. If they flourish, great. After a short while, some will realize they seriously underestimated their previous position. We can extend a return-to-the-Valley option for any we want back. A reinstatement wouldn't be guaranteed, but based on criteria we set," I said.
"We could drop them off at their old homes," my mom said. "With the equivalent of what they brought when they arrived."
"Plus, a homesteading package from Justice?" my dad asked.
"Aaron, that might work," she said, turning to face him.
"Then, I wouldn't offer them a return option," I said. "We've fed, watered, and sheltered them for months now. I'm willing to give them back any food stores or solar they came with, just to be rid of them. I'm assuming a homesteading package is seeds and some tools?"
"Yeah, give a package and a radio to each group," my dad said. "Let them figure out how to convince their neighbors to work together."
"We could include clearing and rototilling a section of grass near their property," my mom said. "I don't want to, but everyone needs to maximize food production this year. I'm thinking of offering something similar for groups on our alert network in exchange for some future labor."
"Should we let them keep their duty weapons?" my dad asked.
"Give them whatever guns and ammo they brought to the Valley. I think anything above what they came with, including a homesteading package and rototilling, should come at a cost to them," I said.
"How will they pay?" my mom asked.
"Future labor or crops," I said. "Nothing is free. If we give them anything, they will expect more. They need to understand their work since the crash was worth only a fraction of the food, water, security, shelter, and heat they received. I also think it is essential for their sponsors to communicate this as soon as possible. I want the worst ones out of the Valley right away."
"Sounds reasonable. And if they don't pay us back then they can do without our help later," my dad said.
"Just like everyone else in the Huntsville area, they can petition at Justice for medical care or community supplies. We'll return their vehicles, but I intend to limit the," my mom said.
"How do we know what they brought?" I asked.
"We put the inventory under the sponsor's name. We gave each sponsor a shipping container. Most moved their personal goods like bedding, furniture, clothing, and comfort items into their Valley quarters. Pots, pans, hot water heaters, solar panels, appliances, and the like remained in storage. Those leaving should get approval from their old neighbors to remove anything. Food is a different issue," she said.
"How so?"
"Very few of the households brought much to eat. Those that came with substantial stores aren't the ones raising a ruckus," my mom said. "The biggest complainers had the least when they came."
Why was I not surprised?
"We will need a food package then," I said. "Give them the corn and soybeans we brought back from Helena."
"I'm thinking a one-month supply of rations per person. Something like rice and beans, or the equivalent from long-term stores," my mom said. "That is about 100 pounds each. I assure you those 100 people didn't arrive with five tons of provisions."
"I'll talk with the sponsors before tonight's meeting," my dad said. "They may provide some other insight, but I think we have the outline of a plan. My main concern is those complaining the loudest are the least likely to actually leave on their own. This needs to be a one-time offer. After this, if we evict people, we dump them outside the area with nothing but the clothes they wear."
"We might consider Steve and Mandy's charter for Justice. Or come up with an equivalent for the Valley, before we bring in the Helena crew," I couldn't believe I was saying this. "We took our neighbors in out of compassion. Apparently, compassion isn't enough. At least the Arkansas bunch knows what conditions are like outside defensive walls. They know everyone now lives in enemy territory and that some of the old behaviors won't cut it. I don't know what Mandy ended up with, but I suggested they start with the code of military conduct."
"I'll ask Mandy to send us a copy before today's meeting," my mom said. "But I'm interested in what you think should be included?"
My first answers came without further thought. "Dereliction of duty. Behavior that disrupts or degrades unit effectiveness. Failure to obey an order. Desertion or being absent without leave from your assigned post. Abuse of power. Acting against the best interest of the Valley community. Betraying Valley secrets. Wasting resources," I said.
"You have been thinking about this?" my dad asked. "Because if not, that was a comprehensive list."
"Yes, ever since Steve and Mandy asked me, it has been on my mind. Especially without the old framework of laws and punishment. Rape, arson, and child abuse are easy, there is no justification in or out of the Valley, ever. Death sentence." My parents both nodded in agreement.
"Homicide is tricky, though. Some might call our execution of the guards at Justice or the Lloyd Mountain Militia murder. Was Razor's killing accidental or murder? My team decided accident, sparing
the youngster. We killed a bunch of people on that trip we considered bad guys. But, those we killed in Clarksville probably thought they were just defending their homes.
"At this point, I don't know a cut and dried definition of homicide. Until the crash, I thought I did, but now not so much. Now I even worry if I don't kill someone, whether I have the deaths of future innocents on my hands because I failed to act? On the other hand, if I killed my neighbor because he didn’t shower often enough, that would probably be murder." I shrugged.
My parents were both in intense listening mode, leaning forward, with full eye contact and receptive expressions. I had their complete attention. "What about theft?" my dad asked, prompting me to continue.
"Stealing food or anything survival related from a teammate or neighbor is reprehensible. Robbing someone or a family at gunpoint of things they need to survive is equivalent to murder. Yet taking everything from someone who attacked me feels justified. Salvaging from an empty building or from the dead is the new version of shopping. What is possession? If someone claims a location, or a section of forest, or a town, I might not agree they own it. On the other hand, I expect people to respect our property and will shoot to protect it. Am I hypocritical? Do I care? One thing I'm clear on if we don't deal harshly with theft involving our residents or resources, the failure could destroy us from within," I said. "We haven't caught anyone stealing yet, but human nature says we will."
"We need a criminal justice system for this new reality before it becomes an issue," my dad said, nodding his head in agreement. "Forming a jury for the Oneida situation worked well. No one questioned whether the punishment was just, but the big test will come when it involves a Valley resident. Steve and Mandy were smart to spell out new behavior standards and how they might enforce them for Justice. Claire and I will draft something to share with the council tonight. Our bunch won't approve them in one sitting, but it should spark important discussion. Even a preliminary charter should communicate to the Helena group some things we don't talk enough about."
"Basically, lifeboat rules?" I asked.
"Yeah, that is one of the simplest ways to imagine life now," my mom said. "It is a good visual, easy to understand. The Valley as a lifeboat. I doubt our status will change in our lifetime, but maybe by the time Jennifer is in charge, things will be different."
I felt ready to move on. This conversation made me uncomfortable, and nothing altered the situation with Carmine. Two topics I wanted to escape at least for a few hours.
While I desired to go see George's dogs, meeting with Phil, the deputy commander of the defense force, now took priority. That put a morning visit to Justice on my to-do list, since Phil was finishing a project there for Mandy.
Early in the crisis, Roger and I divided Valley protection into offense and defense. I led the offensive operations while he handled site security and intel. Roger blurred the line when he formed the Mecklin Defenders after the Oneida operation. I was wounded and reassigned to help with Valley administration when that happened. Then the mission to Arkansas popped up before I had fully recovered.
That meant the leadership structure of the Valleys fighting forces was more cooperative than hierarchical. That actually worked as long as the leadership was on the same page, especially since soldiering was a part-time occupation. Everyone had non-military assignments that usually filled their days, including my Rangers.
Roger created the Defenders, complete with purple markings, as a safer way to interact with our neighbors. It worked, but our internal command structure was still fluid. Despite that, wearing Defender purple, especially on assignments outside the Valley, was now universal.
Before the Defenders, we basically had one defense force divided into squads or teams. Everyone who could handle a rifle was part of that main group. Every qualified adult age 17 or older kept their rifle and ammo with them wherever they worked. The defense force handled routine guard duties and reported to pre-arranged muster locations when the emergency siren blew.
Currently, Rangers filled the ranks of Force Beta, exclusively. When I originally set up the table of organization, I anticipated recruiting seasoned warriors to Beta from different services over time, possibly even Marines. I thought having a neutral designation for our unit would facilitate that. The apocalypse came before I even finished recruiting Rangers. Now we used the terms Force Beta and Rangers nearly interchangeably, but I still hoped to add to my combat-hardened forces.
In the beginning, Force Beta served watches along with everyone else. When the Valley needed more offensive firepower, we concentrated our experienced forces, reserving them for special operations requiring combat expertise.
After the Lloyd Mountain Militia showdown proved that relying solely on Force Beta for combat operations was too restrictive, we recruited volunteers to bolster our offensive capabilities. We called them Force Gamma assigning them to an offensive command structure separate from the overarching defense force. Roger took charge of the defense force while I became the field commander for all operations outside the wire.
Roger and I were comfortable with the loose arrangement, so far. I spent my time in the year before the crash steeped in the Valley plan. While we needed fighters trained sufficiently to protect our assets, the main priority was establishing a sustainable food supply. My mom made sure neither of us forgot our future depended on food. Without enough to eat, community cratered.
Roger spawned the Mecklin Defenders as more of a public relations operation than a tactical military one. It succeeded beyond our expectations. People came out to greet my men when they saw the purple splash. Encounters with civilians shifted from fearful to relief. And no one shot at us anymore, which was Roger’s main goal.
The Defenders were no longer just a public relations stunt. As Justice expanded its outreach program, its role continued to expand. We needed to pull all of our security forces under one table of organization for the long haul. It was on my to-do list before planting season. It wasn't a higher priority because our security operations still ran smoothly, but it was a long-term weakness in our structure. The reality of combat meant we could not afford to leave the chain of command in doubt.
Force Beta and our Force Gamma recruits would still go where the danger was greatest, even in any new organization chart. Even with that understood, everybody still had day-to-day jobs that routinely took precedence, barring a call-to-action. I suspected balancing resources during the upcoming crop growing season would stretch us all to the limits. We needed to clean up the command structure before then.
I checked in at the armory for a quick briefing on the current travel protocol to Justice. Zeke was field-stripping one of the newly acquired M240b machine guns on his bench. He looked up. "I'm guessing you didn't find any spare barrels on your trip?"
"No sign of them. We picked up one weapon on the way out and one on the way back. Some ammo, but no barrels," I confirmed.
"I guess that would be asking too much," Zeke said, pulling out his cleaning rods, bore brushes, reamers, and scrapers from the bench tray. He hadn't started cleaning the machine gun, so the scent of CLP gun lube was still faint.
"I thought you were on your day off?" Zeke asked, moving to park his hip on the edge of the bench.
"Apparently not. I have to run over to Justice and talk with Phil. Roger wants me to cover the whole defense force for a few days. Any change in the protocol for travel between here and Justice?"
"We have positive control of the corridor between the two sites. It is a nice day, so take a ninja. The guys now jog back and forth as part of their PT instead of driving," Zeke said. "Unless it is raining, or they are late for supper."
Walking tempted me, but the flexibility of the rechargeable electric motorcycle we called the ninja provided more options.
"Anything else I should know before assuming command of the defense force?" I asked.
"Phil is great to work with," Zeke said. "He knows a lot of people around Huntsville, having installe
d or fixed plumbing everywhere in the county. When Phil comes on first-contact visits, he smooths over many potential problems. He leaves the Mecklin Defenders to me unless I need help. Force Beta or Gamma responds to most of the Mecklin Defender calls. Phil expanded Valley defense last week to take over Justice, so we pulled back. They now handle routine guard duty and security for both sites and the corridor between."
Phil was a fixture in the Valley my whole life. He served with the rest of my dad's Vietnam War contingent and was a long time Valley resident. A retired plumber, his wife died several years ago from breast cancer. I last spoke with his son and daughter at her funeral. Phil's kids and their families lived out of state but made it back in time due to Jules's early warning about the CME. He was a solid, reliable choice as Roger's XO.