The Directives (24 page)

Bishop moved to the edge of
the wood line, staying low on the off chance that he was being watched. He had borrowed Kevin’s sniper rifle while the team’s best shot had taken his turn in the rack. Grim was also catching some sleep, the contractor snoring away in Bishop’s net-hammock.

He’d told Cory to hang back and observe the camp, violating his own rules about operating alone. Still, he wasn’t going far, and the sleeping men were far more vulnerable.

It was another hour before sunset, and Bishop wanted to take a detailed look at the town before they moved in after dark. The scope on Kevin’s rifle offered the most powerful magnification available.

Bishop steadied the rifle on a tree limb, turning the focus knob until the details of Riley cleared. The first things that drew his eye were the grain silos.

Dwarfing the rest of the structures in the area, the complex of buildings, tracks, roads, and towering structures was amazing. If the grain elevators were as full of seed corn as their source claimed, the Alliance could begin replanting thousands and thousands of acres, while at the same time making a significant dent in the imminent food shortages.

There was no way to tell if the silos were actually full from Bishop’s vantage. He would have to wait until Cory inspected the storage areas. Still, it was exciting to be a part of something that could change so many lives for the better – perhaps even save the Alliance.

Satisfied with his review of the night’s objective, Bishop lowered the rifle and sat back to relax for a few moments. The sun was just touching the western horizon, low enough that a man could view it without hurting his eyes. It was going to be a clear night, his watch indicating a quarter moon.

Those conditions would offset the advantage of their electronically enhanced night vision, but not enough to delay the trip to town.

Bishop took a moment to marvel at the beauty of the remote Texas countryside. The birds, chirping and singing, obviously didn’t care about the apocalypse. He spied a rabbit emerging from its burrow, the long-eared jack preparing for a nocturnal graze.

“We’re the only species that gives a shit,” Bishop whispered. “We built it up, let it fall down, and now we’re struggling with the consequences. Every other life form on this ball of rock could care less. Maybe we should be more like them.”

It wasn’t the first time the Texan’s mind had traveled in that direction. Was mankind’s reorganization really the best move? Was society, rule of law, and all of its trimmings really the best strategy?

There was a streak of Darwinism in Bishop. A line of thinking that conjectured that the human race had asked for much of what happened because it had bypassed survival of the fittest, circumvented nature’s rule that only the strongest survive. Yes, the species had prolonged life, made the less successful more comfortable, and propagated the population to billions and billions of individuals. But had the collapse really been unavoidable? Had the downfall been set in motion by the habits of men? Habits that violated the rules followed by every other creature on the planet.

Bishop traveled back in time, to Houston, when everything started falling apart. He wished he knew then what was so obvious now. Terri and he had gotten lucky, and in so many ways. They always overstocked their pantry in case of hurricanes. They had secured a bug-out location. They had managed to scavenge fuel from Bishop’s employer when it was no longer available to the general public.

Without that set of parameters, his wife and he would have ended up no better than the starving masses that now depended on the Army for their every need. And the military was running on empty.

And then there was Meraton, Texas… a small, less affluent community that had naturally developed and grown as a self-reliant entity - out of necessity. Part of that mindset sprouted naturally from the adjacent, sprawling ranches whose owners had learned 150 years ago that they could ultimately depend on no one but themselves. For them, the fall of society hadn’t really meant that much.

Often, he’d pondered what the situation would be like if the population of Houston had been as self-reliant as the residents of Meraton. It the state’s largest cities had been dotted with gardens, backup water supplies, and fruit trees, would so many lives have been lost?

If the government, education system, and society had embraced a more autonomous lifestyle, would the nation have survived intact? Instead of social safety nets provided by Big Brother, the American people might have embraced an attitude from yesteryear, a motto simply stating, “I am responsible for my own survival.” Would the collapse have killed so many?

Even if the world hadn’t slid over the edge, would the hurricanes, tornados, floods, earthquakes, and other natural disasters have been so devastating to the American economy and her people?

Bishop grunted, an interesting thought popping into his mind. “Are we repeating the same mistake?” he whispered to the birds. If the council’s plan to utilize the grain stored in the giant silos below worked, wouldn’t the Alliance be substituting one system of dependency with another? Would bailing out all those people east of the Alliance render null and void the severe reality of how fragile society had become?

Bishop remembered his grandparents, survivors of the first Great Depression. He recalled how they had never trusted the government, neighbors or anyone else to put bread on the table. They had learned the hard way, experienced true hunger, and changed their lives to make sure it never happened again.

But that lesson’s value had faded over the years. A vast majority of Americans pursued wealth, big screen televisions, and a lifestyle of convenience instead of being able to sustain their families independently. What is worse, they mocked the unassuming souls who supported the tenets of a self-reliant lifestyle.

Bishop shook his head, the line of thought triggering a pounding in his temples. He’d seen more than his share of starving people, and it wasn’t pretty. Was it humane to deny people food, medical care, and security just because they had been shortsighted? Was it fair to let human beings die of starvation just because their priorities and focus hadn’t been aligned with reality?

There were more than a few people in the Alliance who would have answered those questions with a resounding, “Yes!” Survival of fittest, they would argue, would strengthen the gene pool and eventually make the entire race stronger.

Sighing, Bishop knew he wasn’t going to resolve these deep, contradicting philosophies that had probably plagued every leader since the beginning of time.

“Your lot is not to answer,” he mumbled, “but to risk your life trying to do.”

He hoped those folks in H-town and the Big D would appreciate the sacrifices made in Brighton, Alpha, Midland Station, and a hundred other towns across the country. He hoped one day the men who fought to save this nation would be remembered, and that people would be humbled from the sacrifice, maybe even learn their lessons.

“I’m going to bail you out one more time,” he chuckled, heading back for the camp. “After this, you’re truly on your own.”

Shane made sure the last of the kids was settled in. He’d directed the older boys back to town to retrieve blankets, additional water, and a few ancillary items he realized they would need or that would make their hideout more comfortable for an extended stay. As soon as it was dark, they could start the fires and warm the meager amount of food they’d carried in with them.

As he roamed the underground labyrinth of storage rooms, dump chutes and passageways, he couldn’t help but note what a pitiful lot this cluster of survivors was. It made him angry.

Hadn’t they already suffered enough? Hadn’t watching their parents die of insanity, hostile raiders or other acts of horrible demise been payment enough?

Yet again, they were being pushed out of the only homes they knew, huddled together in a dark place hoping to avoid discovery. At that moment, Shane couldn’t understand the world or any God that watched over it. He just couldn’t.

Shaking off the melancholy funk being conjured up by his emotions, he decided to tour their new home one last time. Candles had already been lit here and there, the older children trying to conserve what was becoming an increasingly rare commodity.

Some of the older kids were reading books to the very young, using the colorful drawings to lighten the mood or settle adolescent fears. Shane was always amazed when he saw such acts of maturity and caring. When he had been ten years old, the thought of tending to a kid half his age would have been unthinkable - far beyond his grasp or capability. Now, the older children routinely shared responsibility for the less capable.

Turning to enter a long, low concrete corridor, he almost bumped into a pair of older boys carrying their rifles. “Hey, Shane,” they greeted, moving to one side so he could pass.

“You guys doing okay?”

“Yeah. It’s our turn to stand watch in a little bit. We thought we’d give Chad and Ricky a break so they could grab a bite,” one of them replied.

“Good luck then. I’ll be up that way in a bit.”

As Shane watched them go, pride welled in his chest. He thought the older boy was 11 or 12, the younger probably laying claim to a mere nine years on this earth. They were reporting for a job, carrying firearms, and showing compassion for their friends. How many pre-teen boys would do that?

“I sure as shit wasn’t that mature,” he said. “The only thing I was ever on time for was Saturday morning cartoons. I don’t think I ever did a chore without my old man having to remind me. Sometimes he’d have to get pissed before I’d go do it. They’re good kids – they deserve better than this.”

He found Jimmy right where he thought his nephew would be, hanging around that Candy girl with those lovesick, puppy dog eyes. “Ahhh, hormones,” he whispered under his breath, “It had to happen eventually.”

“Hi, Shane,” Jimmy said.

“Hey. You and the twins all ready for our little raiding party tonight?”

“Yeah. I was just making sure Candy and her sister were comfortable.”

Shane nodded knowingly, not wanting to embarrass or trouble the kid right before they were heading out to do something dangerous. “Well, if you’re ready, we need to get going.”

With his team gathered at the catacomb’s opening, Shane began issuing their instructions. “I think the intruders will come into town tonight. They probably have night vision, maybe even other military gear. I hope they look around, don’t find anything, and leave. There’s no reason for them to stay. While they’re busy checking out Riley, we’re going to go locate their camp. Jimmy and the other guys saw lots of food and equipment… more than they can carry. If these guys don’t leave tomorrow, then we’ll go back and steal their stuff. Maybe they’ll get the idea and head out.”

“Where do you think they are camped?” one of the boys asked.

“They’ll be up on Indian Ridge, probably a little east of where Jimmy found them. We’ll go around the school and behind the old church… stay on the eastern outskirts of town,” Shane said.

The leader smoothed out a clear patch of dirt with his palm and then began drawing a diagram of Riley in the dirt. A few minutes later, every head was nodding in agreement. They all knew the route.

“If anybody gets lost, come back here to the catacombs. But don’t get lost.”

Bishop spread the map across the tailgate, his team gathering so all could see. “I want to avoid the downtown area,” he began. “We’ll stay to the east and circle around to the silos. There’s a church right here… and the school is right here,” he said, pointing to the map.