Distance, Chapter 24

24

Sunday,

January Twenty-ninth

12:50 p.m.

The drive down to the Farm was just as perilous as the drive home had been, but much more scenic.  The windblown snow had created drifts across the fields and roads, with a fog of snow covering the terrain ahead.  The blizzard warning was still in effect, but the heaviest snow had been pushed back until late Sunday night. Doug wasn’t too worried about it…he’d be back to his place by then.

Pulling into the driveway, Doug found himself driving slowly around a half-dozen monstrous hay-bales, placed in an irregular stagger for a couple hundred feet on the main entry.  The sides of the driveway were now plowed high with earth and snow—a lot of work had gone into the project. He recognized it eventually for what it was—a trap for any fast-moving vehicle that might be trying to attack the farm.  Julie saw him coming and was on the porch as he pulled in next to ‘her’ Dodge pickup.   By the time he stepped out of the truck, Arie joined Julie, shotgun on his arm. 

“I hope that’s not for me,” Doug said to Arie as he shook hands.

“Not this time,” Arie said with a pause, before starting a deep laugh. “Good to see you, Douglas.”

“You as well sir. Fairly impressive work out there,” Doug said as he motioned to the entry.

“More than a few hours there.  Some friends of ours had some problems. City-folk.”

“There’s a lot of work like this going on, from here to Des Moines.  Whole towns have blocked off the roads,” Doug said as he took Julie’s hand.  “Hi, there.”

“Hi.  Got plans for the afternoon?”

“You’re it,” Doug said. “What’s in mind?”

“Arie’s just loaded up your pickup with some stuff that needs to go to Peter and Molly’s place. Last minute.”

“Glad to help.  You want to drive or navigate?”

“You just follow, you two,” Arie said, sizing Doug’s clothing up.   “My truck has a load as well.”

“Don’t forget your coffee!” Maria said from the door.  “Sorry, Douglas. Didn’t mean to yell. The man will forget his feet but for his shoes.”

Arie said something in Dutch, kissed his wife and took the battered green Thermos. Maria smiled back.

“Let’s go. Daylight is precious,” Arie said and headed for his one-ton truck.

A minute later, they were threading their way back through the barrier, and Doug realized the Dodge wasn’t in four-wheel drive. He had to stop to engage it, and it still wouldn’t go in.

“What’s wrong?” Julie asked.

“No four-wheel, apparently. No light on the dash. See?” he pointed to where the light should be. “And the way she’s behaving, obviously. He goosed the accelerator and the rear end snapped around.

“Just be careful then.  We’ll look at it later. Arie will keep an eye on us.”

The trip wasn’t long…only a mile or so, with two big left-hand turns. ‘This parcel had to be contiguous to the Segher’s place,’ Doug thought.

“This is Molly’s sister Catharina’s place.  It’s one of the first homes in the area.  Cath and Tom have almost finished their new place.   Peter and Molly are buying it; Peter’s finishing the remodel and helping out with the new place.”

“Busy man,” he said, meaning it. “So what’s in the back?” Doug asked, watching Arie turn into a long driveway, similarly set with a vehicle trap.

“Doors….original to the house.  The guys refinished all of them. Oh, and a bunch of other wood trim. Arie’s truck has the last of the insulation and some drywall for the new store room,” Julie said. “What’s up with these masks?” she asked, holding up the container of Regent-supplied masks as well as his heavy-duty version.

“Company provided—I’m advised to wear them when there’s a chance that the local population has been exposed to the flu. I’m assuming that the locals are safe in this case?”

“No contact with anyone outside of the family or anyone that’s showing symptoms,” Julie said, realizing that Doug was dead serious. “They’re telling you that?”

“Picking up supplies was an interesting experience—yes. That’s what they’re telling us.”

The home came into view, just on the far side of a shallow draw. “Not exactly palatial,” Doug said.

“There’s more than outside appearances,” Julie said, squeezing his hand.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Arie had already backed the flatbed up to the side door, and three men were quickly starting to unload.  Doug pulled in next to them, careful to leave enough room on the side and back.

Roeland, Peter, and Cath’s husband Tom were making quick work of the load on Arie’s truck and Doug joined them, moving bales of insulation into the basement stairwell followed by twenty sheets of thick drywall. Doug helped as much as he could, trying to keep moving and stay out of the way when he wasn’t helping with a load. He quickly found himself winded.

Julie had opened up the canopy of the Dodge, where a dozen interior doors were placed, laying on edge, held just-so with the help of a frame made for the purpose.  Doug was stunned—the doors were solid oak, each had hand carved panels, and the new stain and finish was mirror-like.

“These are incredible, Arie. Your work?” Doug asked as Arie took the holding bracket apart.

“No, this be Peter’s. Fine craftsman, that one.”

“Are these original to the house?”

“Ya, my great grandfather built the house, cut the lumber, built the cabinets and doors and such.  These took a month each to build.” Peter came up behind them.

“These are amazing, Peter,” Doug said. “Nice work.”

“Thanks, and yes they are.  Restoring them was quite a pleasure.”

Ten minutes later, the Dodge was buttoned up, and all four men were hauling doors throughout the house. Peter had them numbered, and once they were inside, it was just a matter of hanging them on their hinges and slipping in the pins. 

The home was compact, with a large kitchen and family dining table; a parlor—too small to be a ‘living room’; a small ‘master’ bedroom; two small bedrooms, one each for the boys and the girls; and a fair sized bathroom on the main floor. 

“That was fun to watch,” Julie said. “Coffee’s ready in the kitchen,” she said.  “Sorry I couldn’t help.”

“You did. You made coffee,” Arie said in his clipped accent, a glint in his eye.

After everyone poured a cup, they made their way back to the basement where the next project beckoned.

“Douglas, have you every set drywall?” Arie asked.

“Helped my father do our garage, a long time ago,” he replied, remembering that in his youth, he’d vowed never do it again. He’d make an exception.

“We need to get this set today.  Moving day is coming with much to store here,” Arie said as Peter and Tom cleared some loose two-by-sixes out of a framed room against one wall.  The walls were all insulated and covered in plastic, even though it was in the basement, essentially a room-within-a-room.  Doug then noticed that the foundation was concrete.  That wouldn’t have been possible in the home’s original construction.  Arie saw Doug’s realization.

“We replaced the foundation two years ago. Raised the house up as well. This was once just a root cellar. Now there’s nine feet clear down here. Foundation is a foot thick, ceiling is six inches of concrete. Reinforced, ya.”

“Why the insulation in that room within the foundation? I don’t get it.”

“That room is insulated to be warmer storage space.  The rest of the basement will be cool for root-cellar storage.  The canned goods and things will be stored there,” Arie motioned to the storeroom. “Each home should have storage like this. That door on the back goes to the storm cellar outside. All underground.”

“Pretty wise. Tornadoes?”

“Ya,” Arie said.  “That’s why the concrete ceiling, too.  House sits on top of it. Stairs down on that end, just through that door,” he said, pointing to a large steel door on the far end of the basement.

Doug was given some gloves and quickly the men set to work, with Julie refreshing their coffee as needed.  The twenty sheets of fire-rated drywall took less than an hour to install, with two men hoisting and holding, one cutting and trimming when he wasn’t also securing the material with screws. Doug found it quite enjoyable, not remembering why he’d hated it as a teenager. Little small talk took place—there wasn’t time.

“Nicely done, Doug.  Many thanks.”  Peter said.

“You’re welcome. I’ll be feeling that tomorrow I’m sure. Badly out of shape.”

“Comes with the territory,” Tom said. “Shelves are next. You up for it?”

“No tape and compound on the joints?” Doug asked.

“Nope. No time.  Besides that, the shelves’ll go against the finished wall. These can be finished later,” Peter said, exchanging a look with his brother in law Tom.  Doug saw the look as well, and it told him that ‘there would not be time.’

‘What were they expecting?’ he wondered.

Another two hours of work, longer than he expected for certain, and the heavy steel frames were assembled, wood shelves in place, and each unit tied together and bolted to two by fours exposed on the finished ceiling. Once finished, the shelves wouldn’t move.

“All right now, men. That’s enough for now. Move in can start tomorrow,” Arie said, as Julie joined them. “More to do at home now, and then dinner.”

After washing up, they donned their outerwear, cleaned several inches of snow from the trucks and headed back to the main house. 

“What were you up to the whole time we were slaving away?” Doug asked.

“Working on the nursery, helping fold diapers, stuff like that. Molly’s on bedrest most of the time now. Two weeks, probably less.”

“What are you doing for medical care?”

“Five midwives within three miles from here, for starters. And there’re a couple of doctors not too much farther away.”

“What about a hospital if she needs it?”

“Most births around here are at home.  If there are complications, we might have to go to the clinic….but with the flu going around like it is, that’s probably a bigger risk than a reward.”

“Didn’t Molly have a prior miscarriage?” Doug asked.

“Two. First trimester. This one looks much better.”

Doug pondered what it must have been like for Peter and Molly to have gone through that.  “That must have been tough,” he said.

“It was. Molly handled it better than Peter did at first. The second one was worse for both.  They’ve been on edge for months of course.”

Doug turned into the driveway, slewing around the obstacles.  Without four-wheel drive, the truck was dangerous on the compacted snow.  Roeland, who’d arrived with Arie, flagged them to pull the Dodge into the equipment shop. They parked inside as Roel closed the monster garage door.

“Father said that you had no four-wheel?”

“Yeah.  No dash light, nothing,” Doug said.

“It worked yesterday—I used it,” Julie said.

“We’ll look at it later. I’m sure we’re expected inside,” Roeland said just as the intercom came to life.

“Roeland? You’ll need to eat quickly.  You’re needed by Jakob.” Julie and Roeland exchanged a quick look.

“Jakob?” Doug asked.

“One of the neighbors,” Roeland replied. Doug could tell there was something else…

They made their way to the house, and entered the tiled ‘mud room’, where there was a cubby for work shoes near the floor and above it, a spot for ‘house shoes.’ Above the shoe cubbies, one for gloves; another for a hat.  Julie handed him some nice leather slippers to wear as he sat on a bench opposite the cubbies. He hung his coat on one of a dozen matching dowels above the bench, seeing Arie’s coveralls on the peg nearest the door.  He’d never seen a utility room as organized in any house.

Doug was re-introduced, which he appreciated as he’d been a little overwhelmed the first time they’d met. Molly’s younger sister Beth was much more talkative this time, with good reason.  She’d heard from her fiancé, just home from Jalalabad, now at Fort Hood, headed for Mexico.

Dinner was a lesson in itself: Hutspot, which included potatoes, carrots and onions, with rookwurst, which was a smoked beef sausage; a very thick pea soup called snert; and a magnificent rye bread, topped with butter and a smoked bacon. Dessert was an appeltart, which seemed a vast improvement on a traditional apple pie; and to wash it down, home made beer, ice cold.  Roeland ate quickly at the kitchen counter, and had coffee instead of beer Doug noticed.  He slipped out without announcement.

After-dinner conversation covered a wide range of topics: Doug’s life history it seemed, politely brought to the surface with casual comments; his trip to Des Moines, which required substantial detail; the young woman that he’d brought to her home in Ottumwa; other observations on the trip, some things mundane to Doug but of interest to the Segher’s.

“Arie,” Maria said from the kitchen, “Turn on the radio. News time.”

Arie reached behind him, and opened an ornate wood cupboard, revealing what Doug thought was a shortwave radio setup.  He switched on four switches, including two on a non-descript black box below the radio.

“….apparently executed in Pittsburgh, mirroring several other gang-type slayings in New Orleans, Memphis, Indianapolis and in major cities in the Northeast. National Guard units from Pennsylvania were dispatched to the Mexican frontier late Thursday, leaving local police departments alone in the fight.  With the loss of the Governor, the commonwealth is struggling for leadership at this time…”

“Where’s this from?” Doug asked.

“Independent station.  Western New York state,” Julie said quietly, anticipating Doug’s next question. “I listen a lot and try to keep everyone up to date, since I’m not all that able-bodied right now.”

“We are hearing that this afternoons’ earthquake in the Western United States may have been centered near Mount Shasta. The quake, reported to be magnitude six point three, hit just after eleven a.m., local. Local observers have stated over the relay network that roads around the mountain are blocked by debris and snowfall, and that the mountain itself cannot be seen. It should be noted that a half-dozen local residents who are part of a local preparedness group have not contacted their leaders, calling into question the chance of an eruption or major landslide.”

“They’re just not getting a break out there,” Doug said, remembering a drive, a long time ago, through that part of the state.

“..reports that at least six barter networks have been raided by Department of Revenue and IRS agents, demanding that the transactions be taxed and taxes paid to the local and Federal government immediately.  In several locations, precious metals used in trading—even though they are legal currency—were seized, along with legally-obtained, legally-permitted firearms. All listening should take that news and act accordingly in any transaction.   In North Carolina, a handful of Federal agents were blockaded from a pending revenue action by directed rifle fire, which resulted in more than a hundred agents descending on a single residence.  The residence was later found to be abandoned. The agents in that area, and we’d expect in other areas, are fanning out and looking for anything at all of interest. Be warned.”

Doug said quietly to Julie, “The government wouldn’t do that…”

“Sure they would. It’s the only way they can keep control.”

Doug looked surprised at her response. “Do you think that?”

“I absolutely think that,” she replied, looking at Doug oddly. “Come with me.”

In the larger living room, they took a seat on the couch. “We’ve never really talked politics, Doug, but I think it’s time we do.”

“OK, that’s fine,” Doug replied, not knowing the dark territory that might be covered.

“You traveled thousands of miles a year in sales, right?”

“Tens. Hundreds of thousands in some years.”

“Air and ground, right?”

“Of course,” he said.

“How many times did you go through a metal detector at an airport? How many times through a scanner? How many times was your phone and your computer put into a machine while you walked through another?”

“Uncountable. Why?”

“All that was done in the name of ‘security.’ Yet you don’t look like any of the terrorists who flew planes into buildings, who bombed the stock exchange or the El, who brought backpack bombs into sporting events, do you? And neither did most of the other people you traveled with. Yet you were searched. You were forced to surrender your liberties. And you didn’t do anything about it…or not much, right?”

“Wait a minute, now,” Doug said. “What they did made us safer. They stopped attacks on us.”

“Through airliners. Then they found other ways, so more searches were put in place. On buses, on trains. TSA teams on the streets in Manhattan. Camille and I saw them there with machine guns. They’re all over the place, in plain sight, and we’ve let it happen.”

“We didn’t let it happen. It was necessary.”

“What did the government learn from this?” Julie asked, leaning forward toward him.

“Learn? They learned what the terrorists could do….”

“Debatable but I think wrong. They learned that the people of today’s United States would not argue with them when they were inconvenienced. Then they learned that they would not argue when they were searched. Then they learned that whatever you have in your computer or your phone or your network or your email is critical to national security and therefore needed to be searched. They learned that they could take more and more, and you wouldn’t do anything about it.”

Doug was getting angry. Not at Julie, but at the points she was making. She wasn’t wrong.  “So you think that the agents in that story were part of that same mentality? Those people weren’t paying their taxes…”

“Why should they pay taxes on trading goods? They aren’t selling, they’re trading.”

“It’s commerce…” he replied.

“Many believe, myself included, that those types of attitudes,” Julie said, pointing to the radio in the other room, “are wildly outside the bounds of the intents of the Founding Fathers and are in direct conflict with the Constitution. If there was an issue there it was a state issue, not a Federal issue, and the IRS shouldn’t have been there.”

“As a living document the Constitution needs to adapt to the times…”

“Nonsense!” Julie said quickly.  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap like that, but that type of interpretation has put us in the basket we’re in, headed someplace hot,” she said, echoing his thoughts of the morning.

“So we’re supposed to have a twenty-first century government with eighteenth century rules? How is that supposed to work?”

“You should know that I’m a Constitutionalist. Meaning that I believe that the Constitution was ideally created and we’re in trouble now because we’ve allowed it to be subverted. I’m not alone in that belief,” she said, looking at the Seghers, who had taken an interest in their discussion, but were polite enough to pretend otherwise.

Doug was surprised by her forcefulness. “So what…you have some sort of litmus test for your leaders?”

“Don’t you? Do you vote for people who will deliver, or do you vote for people who will protect?”

“Deliver.  If they promise to do something, they should make good on it.”

Julie sighed, with some disappointment. “Protect. Protect the Constitution. Protect the nation from greed. Protect the future from ourselves.”

“I’m sorry. I just can’t see how that is a practical outlook. Too lofty an ideal,” Doug said, almost immediately seeing that he’d regret that statement.

“But the ‘deliver’ attitude has created a society of instant gratification, greed, and debt that has crushed us. Everyone is angry with us. ‘More’ at the expense of others…funded by others through deceit, is toxic. It’s killing our country.”

“We’ll recover. We’ll get through this….” Doug said.

“Some of us will if we’re lucky, but the old system is dead. They used to say, ‘it is different this time.’ They’re right this time. It is different. There is no going back,” Julie said, an expectant look on her face. “Doug, do you disagree?”

He thought for a minute before answering. “Julie, I’ve been just trying to do my job. I’ve never really delved into the low drama of politics. I have just never thought about it. It didn’t matter to me. There wasn’t any difference that I could make anyhow.” 

“Does it matter now?” she asked.

“There’s a lot going on. Yeah, it probably matters.”

“Doug, I need you and I to believe the same things if there’s going to be a future for us,” she said quietly.

“I’m not sure I know what to say right now.”

“Neither do I,” Julie said, looking down at her hands, folded on her lap. 

The radio broadcast continued, as they sat in silence.  Neither heard a word of it.  

Remnant, Chapter 24

24

Saturday evening,

November Eighteenth

5:40 p.m.

By the time we got home, dinner was simmering away in two big slow-cookers. Our wives had taken my idea about the house next door to heart, and had spent some of the afternoon looking it over in detail.   They’d decided that we’d have a big dinner to discuss it with all of us. Carl and I were enlisted to get the extra dining room table leaves, round up more chairs, and a couple more tablecloths. Karen’s grandmother’s sideboard, converted from an old Kitchen Queen, was decked out with plates, silverware, and a bunch of glasses.

Karen had given me the notes they’d made for the work on the former home of Nate and Ginny Woolsley. She knew that I liked to think things out before diving in whole-hog, and with my imminent military commitment, this would be less about my direct contributions, and more about supporting the project.   It seemed that we were about to get into the extended care business.

The home to the south of us had belonged to a retired couple who’d never returned from Western Washington after the Domino. We’d never heard if they’d died in the quake, the ash fall, or had evacuated somewhere ‘else.’ Other than some minor salvage work at their home, mostly involving very little stored food in the place, securing a damaged water line, and checking the power before we shut it off completely, we hadn’t really been in the house. I’d boarded up broken windows right after the quake, patched some holes, and that had been about it.

The home had been retrofitted before our neighbors bought it, for an elderly couple in their last years in the home. The kitchen was designed to be accessible to a wheelchair bound chef, bath facilities, ramps and handrails installed, and doors widened. With some repair work, the house could be reused and could serve as a better alternative for Grace to get around, without having to deal with stairs, traditional tubs, and narrow doorways. This home could also be big enough for another resident or two, as well as live in nursing staff, just on the main floor. A couple of basement bedrooms were options too, but of course weren’t accessible.

The biggest negative was the ‘rancher’ layout, and the lack of a fireplace in the middle of the home that might help heat the place with a woodstove. The all-electric home didn’t have a great option for a wood-fired furnace either. It could be done, but not all that easily. For these reasons, we had decided months ago just to keep the place ‘off the grid’ for home rehabs.

A few minutes before six, our dinner guests arrived, Libby carrying in both hands clutched before her, a canary-yellow paper that I immediately recognized by the official seal. Sarah, Ron and Kelly followed and then Alan’s clan behind.   The house went from relatively quiet to quite noisy in a flash.

“Good evening all! Come in!” I said, playing the welcoming host, and ushering everyone inside.

“Lib, I see you’ve heard from John,” I said, referring to the Northwest Command paper.

“They made it to California. Just got this from Elaine!” 

“Good to hear. Personal message, or just the facts?”

“Mostly the latter, unless you count the cryptic message he sent Sarah,” Libby said, looking out of the corner of her eye at her future daughter in law, with a little smile.

“Sarah? Care to elaborate?”

“Nope, not even a little, thanks,” she said as she gave me a hug. “Thanks for the invitation to dinner. It seems like it’s been ages.”

“It does at that. Apple and pear cider are there on the buffet.  Make yourself at home,” I said, finally taking their wet jackets and coats.

The guys, including Carl and young Mark, gravitated to the living room, where Carl had moved his video game console.  Rachel, Kelly and Marie headed upstairs to Kelly’s room, for a few minutes of goofing off before dinner.  

“Hon, here’s the apple-jack,” Karen said, putting an old-fashioned brown jug on the buffet.

“Thanks—Nice container there,” I said.

“Seemed appropriate. That stuff must be eighty-proof!” she said. The antique moonshine jugs must’ve been pre Second War. I picked up a half dozen of them at a garage sale when I was in high school. They’d decorated various cardboard boxes ever since. Only one was ever displayed as an ‘antique’ and that one was lost in the quake.

“Now, now,” I said. “Not a smidge over seventy.”

“Paulianos?” Alan asked.

“Yep.  Don managed to resurrect the family’s ancient still,” I said. “I snagged a small amount of scrap copper for Don in trade.”  I poured each of us a tall shot glass.  The copper included sheet, tubing, and some piping, left over from one of our gas producer units.

“Holding out on us, huh?” Alan said, taking an experimental sniff, then sip, of the concoction.  “Holy smokes!” he said after his sample.

“Not bad, huh.” I said. Ron tried a sip, and declined more.

“A little much for me,” he said. “As in, not for consumption around open flame.”

“True enough,” I said, taking a larger sip.

“Is Don going into commercial production with this?” Alan asked.

“Maybe next year, he said. Not a huge priority for him. He just wanted to see if the old recipes were still good. Joe said Don did a better job on the finish than he did, which is pretty high praise.”

“Rick, would you call the girls down? We’re about ready to dish up.”

“Done,” I said, and then took another sip, before summoning the giggling girls. Rachel was four years younger than her cousin, but was fitting right in with whatever inside joke was running.

“OK, you boys, have a seat,” Mary said, directing us to the far side of the dining room table, away from the kitchen.

“Yes, SarMajor sir!” I said, taking my place near, but not at the head of the table. I figured correctly that Karen would take that spot.  

After we had devoured most of the stew, all of the wheat dinner rolls, and some applesauce, the ladies outlined what ‘we’ needed to get done next door before Grace would be released from Valley General, this coming Wednesday.

“Whew. Is that all?” Alan asked with a little humor.

“Can you do it?” Karen asked her big brother.

He and Ron gave me a look, I nodded very slightly, and then he responded. “It’ll be a push. Rick, you been in there lately?”

“Not since the summer, no.”

“We’re going to be working some serious hours to get this done,” Ron said, looking over the notes. “And this is a busy week at the stores, Thanksgiving and all.”

“So let’s hire some bodies,” I said. “I’m not sure what kind of hours I’ll have this week anyway, and next week’s too late,” I said, without saying, ‘And I’m wearing a uniform then.’ 

“Can you get it habitable, even though it’s not all finished?” Karen asked us.  I noted that Sarah was taking in the discussion attentively, but hadn’t contributed much.

“Yeah, if you hold a loose definition of that word,” I said. “You made a good list, but I also know that in addition to that, we’ll need to go through the circuits one-by-one, like we did here; we’ll need to check the plumbing again; and the electric furnace. Problem is of course when the power goes down, that place freezes. We need a backup source of heat, and that’s where a fair hunk of work is, over and above the sheetrock, broken glass, and getting the place weather-tight again,” I said. “Ron, you have that list of skilled tradesmen available from the main store’s want-work list, right?”

“Yeah, it’s at the store.”

“Maybe we ought a run down there and get it. We can probably get some labor lined up tomorrow at church, if they attend.”

“Most do,” he said.

“You trust them?” I asked, knowing that some of the men and women on the list of ‘I’m for hire—I can do these things’ were really there to case houses for strong-arm break-ins or invasions.

“They aren’t on our lists unless we do. We’ve vetted them all.”

“OK. Let’s go that direction. Maybe we use the same forces for the houses near the hospital, just finish up next door and move on to the next project,” I said. “Now, knowing what you know about those other houses, how much money do you need?”

“Probably two-hundred cash. We can trade for quite a bit of what we’ll need. Cash is faster though, although it shows our hand,” Ron said.

“Yeah, it does,” I said. Anyone using a fair amount of cash, and two hundred dollars was certainly above that threshold, would invite unwanted attention from those who were cash-poor. Regardless of connections to law enforcement or military, if you had those kinds of resources, you became a target. You couldn’t watch your back all the time. Having several thousand dollars in precious metals was all well and good, if spending it didn’t get you or a family member kidnapped or killed.  “I wonder if we can maybe work something out with the hospital that might deflect that a little,” I thought out loud.

“What do you mean?” Mary asked. “I got the impression that they’re all but broke.”

“Maybe we buy the houses. We coordinate the refit. In exchange, the laborers who put them back together get some sort of break on medical care. I don’t know, something like that.”

“Might be worth talking about,” Alan said, thinking this through to himself.

“Sarah, you’ve been pretty quiet. What do you think?” I asked.

“I’m a newbie to all this.”

“Well, if you were a caregiver, which you’ve done over at the clinic and the hospital, put yourself in that place and comment.”

“Security,” she said without pause. “People figure out that you have a care facility and therefore you have meds. You have meds, and they’re not protected, you get robbed. Even the home-grown meds and the manuals for holistic medicines—they take everything.”

That put a new spin on things. The Woolsley’s house had a very low fence around the front yard, an open driveway, lots of hiding places around the home, and just looked like a soft target.  Alan and Ron both took notice and leaned forward attentively. Karen, Mary and Libby listened on.

“You also need a safe room, separate from the medicine storage area. People aren’t the targets. Drugs are. Separate the staff and patient safe room from the drug storage, and things are far safer for everyone.”

“Or go the ‘Harder Homes and Gardens’ route and secure the whole facility,” Ron said.

“Sure, but your residents then feel like, and they are, living in a prison,” Sarah said.   “It’s like the rooms over at Valley that face on the courtyard. The patients that are in those rooms just don’t do as well as those that have a view to the real outside, without a big honkin’ security fence.”

“Hmm,” Alan said. “We’ll look at the place. Rick, aren’t the bedrooms all on one end?”

“Yeah. Living and dining room in the middle, kitchen and family room in that order, moving away from the bedrooms.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard to separate functions then, and meet Sarah’s goals.”

“They’re just ideas,” Sarah said.

“Sure, they’re good ideas,” Alan said.

“Anyway, let’s get the first project off the boards and see what goes next.  It’ll be your baby soon enough,” I said to the collected adults. The kids had made themselves scarce as soon as the last empty spoon hit the last empty bowl.

“Don’t remind us,” Karen said. “Let’s get going on these dishes. Boys, it’s all yours. We ladies are going to put our feet up.”

“Fair enough. I just hope you can find your dishes when we’re done putting them away,” Alan said.

“Rick will…”

“Oh, no. Don’t bring me into this. It’s our house. It’s your kitchen.”

“Men,” Libby said. “Ladies, come join me for a cider over ice, with a little cinnamon.”

After a dessert of apple pie, we took turns playing Sequence, working as couples. For a change the Drummonds took a commanding lead, and ended up winning.  The woodstove cracked quietly as the ‘losers’ fought over last place. Sarah had headed back home with Ron and Alan escorting her, before they’d returned to fight over last place.  Buck heard something, stood up a fraction of a second before Ada joined him, growling at the door.

“Gents, we may have company,” I said, reaching for a shotgun.  Ron and Alan took up arms as well, as our wives collected Mark and Rachel, and moved upstairs until we could see what was coming our way.  For an opposing force to get this far, they’d have had to have come through the neighborhood guard. Doable, but messy.

The doorbell rang. Not the modus operandi of an attacker, unless tactics had changed dramatically. Buck and Ada both took a step back, and barked, fur on the back of their necks raised.

“Do me a favor, boys, and cover me here,” I said, cradling my modified 870, now sporting a handgrip and folding stock. This shotgun was loaded with double-ought, except for the last round, which was a law-enforcement slug round.

Ron had his own sidearm out and trained on the door, listening for anything amiss. Alan had one of our AK47’s. I moved past the door, unlocked the deadbolts, and found Elaine Cross on the other side. The dogs went into ‘sniff mode’ immediately, with buck grabbing an old toy and wagging his tail furiously.

“Major, this is a surprise. To what do we owe the honor?” I said, ushering her in as Ron and Alan quietly stowed their weapons. I safed the Remington and stowed it behind the door.

“I have a couple of things for you. For all of you, actually, but there are some briefing papers in here for you as well, Rick,” Elaine said as Karen, Mary, Libby and the little kids came back into the room, and resumed watching their movie. Such interruptions were not seen as irregular by the kids, and both Rachel and Marky were turning out to be pretty good shots with single-shot .22’s.

 “Hi, Elaine. Come in for some pie. Sorry for the armed reception,” Karen said.

“That’s OK. I understand.  You do have two squads on patrol in the area though. Not much is going to get by them.”

“Good to know, still….” I said.

“I know, better safe than sorry.”

“How’re the kids doing?” Karen asked.

“Jenny’s getting better. Now Bobby’s coming down with it.”

“Sarah got you that elderberry concoction, right?” Libby asked, serving a nice sized piece of pie to Elaine.

“Sure did. That stuff’s magic,” she said. “Aren’t you curious about that packet?”

“Yes, but I’m willing to wait,” I said.

“You shouldn’t. Seriously,” Elaine said with a wink.

“That does it. Give it here,” Karen said, tearing open the large manila envelope. The contents spilled onto the scarred dining room table.

Four cellular phones, identical in manufacture but in different colors spilled out, along with their charging units. They slid out along with a smaller envelope, about a half-inch thick, stamped with the logo of the Pacific Northwest Command.

“Oh, my,” Libby said first. “Are you serious?”

“Yes!” Elaine said. “You’re among the first to get them. They’re already activated. Look on the back for your names and your numbers.”

Everyone started talking at once at the prospect of being able to make a phone call again. I was wondering, who would I call?

The packet addressed to me, I opened after our guests had left for the evening. I’d asked Elaine if she knew anything about the contents, and she suggested that they were probably an outline of my command responsibilities.

They were all of that.  On their face, the documents illustrated a complete reorganization of the United States Army and the Guard.  Many of the historically centralized training locations had been eliminated by the Second Civil War, and the ability to ship a soldier from Washington to wherever for basic training, and then back to a unit, and then to the “front”, wherever that was, had been recognized as wasted motion and time and resources.   For young John Martin, this would have meant training closer to home. Unfortunately, it came a couple weeks too late. He would likely though join a Washington State infantry unit.

The three-page Command Summary document outlined my intermediate future. In a few days I’d be a brigade commander, a minimum of a thousand troops under my command on day one, up to three thousand when full strength, the Third Washington Engineering Brigade, or Third Washington Engineers, part of the Forty-First Division, Transportation Command.  Our brigade had an interesting assignment, being to support the front line troops with materiel, repairing rails and roads on the way to the War, mostly rails, alternating between rear-area support and repair of transport potentially under fire. We’d help out communities along the rail corridors as we could, to support our primary mission, that being to get men and machines East to meet the S.A. forces. We’d be rail-mounted from Spokane, and head east, fixing things along the way along with BNSF train crews, eventually pulling in behind the line in the snow that separated United States Army forces from those of the S.A. The War was bogging down to a winter slog, along ragged lines crossing Colorado, Nebraska and Minnesota, as well as across Kansas, Missouri, and through northern Kentucky, parts of West Virginia, slicing neatly along the North Carolina state line to the East Coast.  The Air Force had a role of course, but this was mostly a ground war.  With the war in Mexico and then the turmoil at home, there was a serious shortage of airborne munitions.  The historic stockpiles had been used up or abandoned and blown up overseas, leaving very little in North America to fight a modern air-superiority war.

Everything in the Northeast was S.A. territory, including of course the irradiated Washington D.C.  They held the Great Lakes, parts of Ontario, the St. Laurence Seaway. The State of America forces had been beaten back north from the Gulf of Mexico on up the Mississippi. They were blockaded by the Navy in the Gulf, along the East Coast, and along the Canadian Maritimes. They held Memphis, and roughly a third of Tennessee. Alex and Amber were there, last spring, with their young children, Luke and Jaime. It had been more than six months since I’d heard from them. Almost as long since I’d heard from my oldest brother and his family. Jack at last word had been north of the Twin Cities. Both of my surviving brothers and their families were behind the lines, if they were still alive.

I studied the next document, fifty-pages or so long, to see the depth of the changes.  The reorganization would be literally from the ground up, harkening back to units created during the First Civil War and before, from local areas, organized by the States, trained together as units and sent in service of the national war effort.   Each state would have their own ‘basic training’ post.  Ours would be at Fort Walla Walla, and would be in operation by the Monday following Thanksgiving. Oregon would have their post in Walla Walla as well, since they had no active military bases pre-War. Idaho would train at Mountain Home Joint Military Center. 

I was thinking to myself, what I needed was a copy of “How to Command an Army Brigade For Dummies.”

Karen snuck in behind me, as I was buried in further Army bureaucratese, giving me a bit of a start as she snaked her hands around my ribs.

“Bedtime, my love,” she said, nuzzling my ear. “It’s late, and, we’re alone.”

“I like the sound of that,” I said, finally noticing her quite transparent gown. “I like the sound of that a lot!”