Earth's Survivors, page 202
“Jessie, we have all have been through it... Why can't you be here?” Becky asked.
“Is it Frank? Do you think that is that still between you two?” Annie Asked. “Because I can tell you it's not, as far as Frank is concerned. He'd tell you himself except he's a man... Still doesn't know how to talk to a woman very well. He'd be afraid you would cry, but I can tell you. It isn't there any longer.”
Jessie straightened her back. She had been afraid she would cry, and she didn't want to do that. She didn't want to appear weak now. Not when she was stating her case for her reasons for not staying. She wanted to be seen as sure: Solid. Determined. “It's... It's not so simple as that... What was between Frank and I was a small thing in the scheme of things... Relationships that are formed in crisis don't last... That's all there was to that, and I could not see pretending it would last... I have this drive,” she shrugged. “Since day one? Maybe... Since sometime in those first days in Rochester, trying to figure it all out. I need my own place. I need a place that I can control... Shape... Build... And I have it.” She waited for someone to speak, when no one did she began again.
“Far to the east, Kentucky or Tennessee, there is a place you might have heard about called the Nation... If you haven't heard about them, you will. They have drawn thousands to them and will continue to draw thousands to them, and they are probably the most corrupted society that I have seen come from the destruction. They think better of themselves, but they are no better than what we had... I say it to warn you, not from my own experience alone, although that is probably reason enough.” She paused and gathered her thoughts. “They are the next thing we will need to fight... Maybe even to destroy.”
“I am going back to the Fold. It has been started in the desert and even now should be growing stronger as they wait for my return. I had hoped to return here and bring what I started at Lake Union back to the desert, but that has fallen apart too. Sarah is dying... Probably soon, so there is little left to do to except pick up whatever pieces remain there and leave for the last time.” She fell silent.
“So you are leaving to prepare for a fight? Hasn't there been enough of that? Haven't millions died already because someone else had what they thought was a better idea, or because of lies, disease, corrupt societies,” Becky asked.
Jessie frowned. “It was not disease. It was a purposely released virus... They know that to the east. The rising of the dead came to be directly as a result of that, and there are those in the Nation that are looking for that virus... What more can it do? I don't know, but I for one am not willing to wait and see what the next wave of disease that is released upon us is all about. I am going to fight it.... This Nation, they have their own military... They have men and women dedicated to that... They search out weapons, biological, conventional, I don't know what else, but if you give it some thought, all of it is still out there somewhere. Just waiting for someone like the Nation to come along and pick it up... Start all over again... And that is what they have done, are doing, continue to do. Do you have a military? I don't, but when I get back it is one of the first things I intend to do... I would like to know where we stand. Are you with me, because this will come to you eventually. You may be so far west that the battle has not come here yet, but it will... Just as soon as they find a weapon that can reach you it will, whether they use that weapon or not, because the truth is, the threat alone will bring it to you. What could you do against that? That is why the Fold will be ready. I know who the enemy is. I am sure they are not the only one. And we will be ready.” She nodded fiercely as she finished and pushed herself back from the table they sat at. Once again her eyes went to the lake as the silence continued. Her face softened as she watched the waves, a few ducks on the surface closer in to shore. She turned to look at the others.
“I can't say we will,” Becky said. “We'll need to talk as a community... Things have changed... we left it in your hands, in Sarah's hands, but in the absence of both of you we began to decide our own fate... We had no choice, and it may be unofficial but it works. It keeps us together. Keeps the community alive and prospering.”
Jessie nodded. “I understand... As for me I have to get back. I have been interrupted too long, kept from my true purpose.”
“You sound... I don't know, so bent on this course,” Annie said. “Violence is how we all got here.”
“No,” Jessie said quietly. “Lies is how we all got here. Being unprepared is how we all got here. Listening to politicians that lied to us for years... And we knew it! That is how we got here... I don't intend to let that happen to my people again.”
~
It was several hours before Jessie came back, accompanied by the other women, and they prepared to leave. There was a tense set to Jessie's shoulders, enough to let the others know that whatever they had discussed had not gone Jessie's way. She would talk about it or she wouldn't. That was Jessie's way.
As they stepped outside the sun was just beginning to set on the far side of the trees. Janna looked around her. Squirrels chattered as they played in the trees, and a virtual symphony of bird whistles greeted them as they stepped down the wide front steps of the cabin.
"I don't think I've seen any place this nice in a long time," Janna said.
"Well," Frank said, as he shook Janna's hand again, "you're welcome to stay, if you want to."
"Same goes for me," Joe said. "Becky tried to convince Jessie to stay. Failed again, I would say."
"We'll see you again," Gary said kindly as he stepped forward. Dell shook Janna's hand as well. It was beginning to feel too good to leave, almost ... well, almost like home, Janna thought.
“Can't convince you,” Joe asked.
“I... I like it, I would like to, but I want to follow Jessie... Help to build the Fold... I owe her so much,” Janna said. She was near tears. Too much had happened in the last few months that she had not yet had time to deal with.
Becky stepped forward and hugged her quickly. “We'll come and visit... If the mountain won't come to Mohammad...”
Frank stepped forward and pulled Jesse to him before she could protest.
“You should stay here,” Frank said. “You belong.”
“Maybe,” Jessie agreed. “Maybe once I did... I hope that all of you end up with us, Frank.” Her voice cracked and she pulled away suddenly, causing a few people to look at them as they stood awkwardly, still close to one another. Annie stepped forward and hugged Jessie, breaking the moment. She pulled back from the hug with no words. Jessie pulled away, and a few moments later the three trucks started, backed around and then drove slowly down the dirt road toward the main highway.
They drove through the late afternoon light, making their way slowly, the road cracked and uneven before them. In places the forest had crept forward and reclaimed parts of it. Huge pines towered over them, and an occasional rusty sign pointed the way to some now nonexistent point of interest, as they wound slowly through the mountainous country. When they reached and passed the former roadblock, expecting trouble once more, they found it empty.
Seattle
April 29th
Lake Union Settlement
Rodney stood slowly from Mamma's grave where he had been kneeling, and turned to the people behind him. Jessie stepped out and the small crowd fell silent.
“It's time,” she said simply, “it's time to leave.” She turned back to the others and they climbed inside her SUV. A few moments later she backed around, came back up onto the rutted dirt road and started slowly out of the settlement.
Most of the inhabitants had left soon after Mamma had died. They had given no reasons, and Rodney had asked for none. Of the more than one thousand people that had been there, there were less than forty now, gathered around them in a circle. The small crowd moved away and quickly gathered what they wished to take with them, which was not a great deal.
Less than twenty minutes later a worn caravan of patched and rusty vehicles pulled out of the park at Lake Union, and trekked slowly out of Seattle following Jessie Stone. As they drove east, other encampments joined them, and when they were just beyond the city limits, the small caravan that had started with no more than fifteen vehicles had grown to more than thirty.
EARTH’S SURVIVORS: YELLOWSTONE
Copyright 2018 W. W. Watson all rights reserved.
Cover Art © Copyright 2018 Dell Sweet
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YELLOWSTONE
PROLOGUE
Somewhere in the World
Overclocking: SS-V2765
"Stay down next to the friggin' bank, Hunter!" Beeker yelled. Beeker could see that Hunter probably wouldn't be hanging around for much longer. He didn't have the wits that Simpson had. And a fire fight was no fuckin' place to have to baby sit. Why was it that he always ended up with all the ass-holes any way? They had been pinned down in this particular position a sandy beachhead for four days. Sand and water in front of them, mountain and jungle behind them. They were on the other side of a river, and if the man upstairs the man that pulled all the friggin' strings, Beeker liked to think, didn't do something damn soon they might not see five.
The fire was just as heavy as it had been on the first day. Non-stop. Round after round of machine gun fire, and mortar rounds that came so fast it was hard to tell when one ended, and another began. Hunter crawled over, eating some dirt as he came. But at least he had crawled. The numb son-of-a-bitch had walked the first few times; like he was out on a goddamn Sunday stroll.
"Sergeant Beeker?" he whisper yelled over the sound of the gunfire. "Shouldn't we maybe take the shit now, sir?"
"Hey, fuck you, if I say we lay low, we lay low. We take it like we’re supposed to, no deviations on my watch. Now, shut up and crawl your white-ass back over to your position, mister, NOW!"
The shit was V2765. The thing was, Hunter had already had it at least once, the rest of them hadn’t and never would. But Hunter had come with the vial clearly marked as a booster shot… He didn’t need that yet.
Hunter went, he didn't have to be told twice. Beeker was one mean bastard, and he had absolutely no desire to mess with him. Even so this whole situation didn't set well in his mind, and that was mainly due to the fact that it didn't make any sense. And how in hell could it? he asked himself. There was no answer, because there could be no answer at all. Fifteen days ago he had been safe and sound in... In... It wouldn't come. Someplace. He had been someplace, not here, and he had been... Whatever he had been, or where ever he had been it wouldn’t come. He could almost remember, like it was right there, just beyond memories…
He could remember waking up here with Beeker, Philips, and Ronson. In the middle of... Of... Where am I? He didn't know that either, and they weren't disposed to tell him. Other than waking up in the middle of this fire-fight, he couldn't remember jack-shit. He made the outside perimeter, and curled up into a near ball as he pressed himself into the dirt embankment.
Jungle all around… Not the Middle East then… Where he had been… Had he been in the Middle East? Fighting… Fighting the… He couldn’t make the information come to him, but it seemed as though it was just barely out of reach like all the rest…
Bluechip… Volunteer? For? Thoughts floating around in his head… They had given him a shot… Some sort of booster? Yes, booster… Booster shot… For, what? He asked himself, but he had no idea.
"About fucking time," Beeker yelled above the roar of gunfire... ...They had been pinned down for the last several hours, with heavy fire. It had finally fallen off somewhat, and it was time to make a move: Beeker was no fool, he had every intention of getting his men the hell out, including that test case they had laid on him...
He'd already lost four good men on this mission. He couldn't see losing any more. He looked across the short, smoky distance, directly into Ronson's eyes, and signaled left, away from the sand, towards the jungle that pressed in from behind them. A quick sideways flick of his own eyes told him that Hunter and Phillips had caught it too. Beeker signaled Ronson out first, then Phillips, and then Hunter. It was a slow go; belly crawl for the first few hundred yards. The bullets continued to whine above them, but they all made it one piece. Two hundred yards in they were able to stand. The jungle finally offering some protection. Beeker led the way quickly yet carefully, through the lush greenery. The others fell in behind him silently. Two miles further through the dense jungle, and they finally lost the distant sounds of gunfire, and the jungle fell nearly silent. They fell silent themselves, moving as quietly as they could from tree to tree: Aware of the noises that surrounded them. A short while later when the gunfire had completely fallen off, the jungle seemed to come back to life. Bird calls, and the ever present monkey chatter. That was a good sign to Beeker, if the jungle was full of soldiers, the birds sure as fuck wouldn't be singing. They pushed on through the night, and morning found them in a small village with a main trail running through the middle of it. They walked quietly through the village end to end… Burned out… Empty… A good place to rest-up.
"Oh, man," Ronson complained. "Fuckin’ cra-zee," Beeker agreed wearily. He was leaned back against the side of a burned out hut, smoking a cigarette he'd pulled from inside his jacket.
Hunter didn't have the slightest idea where they were, let alone what they were talking about. Beeker had led them through the jungle and at first light they had come upon this village. They had crept in warily, ready for whatever lay before them. There had been no need, it was empty; a couple of dozen scattered bodies busy gathering flies: Burned out huts. The design wasn’t familiar to him. He had thought Beeker would move on. He hadn't. They were still here. But where here was, and how Beeker had found it, eluded Hunter.
"Sure as fuck did thought we was done," Phillips agreed.
"Yeah, well, we made it this far," Ronson said. He grinned, and then the grin turned into a full fledged smile, and he began to laugh. Phillips joined him, and a second later, when Hunter was sure Beeker was going to open his mouth to tell them all to shut the fuck up, he started laughing too. "Oh... It's good, look-at-him," Ronson said, holding his side, and pointing at Hunter, "he don't have a friggin' clue." That seemed to drive all of them into hysteria, Hunter saw. Including Beeker, who was usually hard-nosed and moody. He was doubled over too. Holding his sides. Tears squirting from his eyes.
"That true?" Beeker asked at last, once he had managed to get the laughter somewhat under control. "That your friggin' problem is it, Hunter, you don't have a clue?" he stopped laughing abruptly, and within seconds Ronson and Philips chuckled to a stop. "Do you have the slightest idea where your ass is?" Beeker asked seriously.
"No... Well, a jungle, I guess," Hunter answered.
"No... Well, it could be a jungle, I guess," Ronson mimicked in a high falsetto.
"Is it?" Hunter ventured in a near whisper.
"Look..." Beeker waited for silence. "Take a break, it's going to get worse. Why don't you have a smoke and kick back... Enjoy the break?"
"Well, the thing is that I don't smoke, bad for the lungs. I'm pretty careful about my health."
"Really?" Beeker asked politely. He chuckled briefly, lit another of his own smokes, and then spoke softly. "I would like your complete attention, Hunter, do I have it?"
"Yeah, sure..."
He cut him off, his voice a roar. "In case you hadn't noticed, there's a fuckin' war goin' on, you pansy mother-fucker. A fuckin' war, Hunter, you understand that, you ain't gonna live much fuckin' longer anyway. Get with the program mister, now!"
Hunter's eyes bugged out, but as Beeker finished he forced himself to speak. "I know that... I can see that... It don't mean I have to die though, not necessarily."
"Man, Beek, don't waste your time, he hopeless, same old shit, like Simpson. Like all those friggin guys before Simpson," Ronson said.
Beeker drew a deep breath, winked at Ronson, and then spoke. "Yes it does," Beeker said calmly. "It does because you ain't a regular. You ain't been here long enough, and you don't mean a fiddler's fuck to anybody. And that sucks, but that's life, Hunter," he paused and looked over at Ronson. "How long was the last one, fourteen days, am I right?"
"As rain," Ronson replied coolly.
"And where are we now?" Beeker asked.
"Seventeen?" Phillips asked.
"Uh uh," Ronson corrected, "eighteen, man, remember? Simpson bought it eighteen days ago, and this ass-hole came into play. Replacement, supposedly."
"Right!" Beeker said. "It is eighteen, and that's why nobody gives a fuck about you, Hunter. Eighteen's too far, you'll be done at twenty, it never goes past that, and I'll bet bullets to bodies you'll buy the farm long before we're done with eighteen, see?"
"No," Hunter said slowly, "I don't see." Seventeen? Eighteen? What the hell was that all about? he wondered.
Ronson chuckled. "I think he's confused, again, Beek."
"I think he was fuckin' born confused," Phillips added.
"Seventeen? Eighteen?" Hunter asked aloud. He didn't get it, not completely anyway.
