World of Ashes (41 page)

             
“Sullivan, Missouri.” Sergeant Winters finished. “Yes, I’ve been briefed on your heroic story. General Vierling is eager to meet you. There’s not many towns out there we’re still in contact with.” Winters motioned for them to follow. They grabbed their bags and went with him, happy to escape the drone of aircraft engines.

             
“So what does the world look like from your perspective?” Lee asked as they dropped their gear in a containerized housing unit. It was just barely big enough for three people to sleep in. Five if Allen could get two girls inside one sleeping bag.

             
“Well, after the fall of the Federal Government, Governor Ryan declared Texas an independent nation again. It was the only way we could get people to stop rioting and conform to some law and order, bring whatever splinter groups were forming back into the fold. Those were some scary times. Made Katrina look like a glass of spilled milk.” Winters admitted. He pulled a booklet out of his pocket and pointed to a map, “These are the Sovereign Nations of Texas, New Mexico and Alaska. So far they’re the only US states to have anything resembling a government. There are about a hundred small towns like yours all across the US and Canada, mostly in the mountains where the Zims have trouble moving freely. Around the world England, Iceland, Greenland, Okinawa and parts of Australia are still broadcasting regularly, though the only place with anything close to an original intact government
is
England. Apparently after the fall of their parliament the royal family stepped back up to the plate again. Though I’m not sure power over four million people is really worth calling a monarchy. Queen Elizabeth II does her best, despite her age. She speaks publically over the radio every Sunday after mass. It’s neat to listen to, England’s surgeon general then gives progress reports on their infection control groups. It’s cold there because of the nuclear winter, their Zims aren’t rotting as fast as ours.”

             
“I’m sure the folks back home will be happy to know there are still others out there. We were starting to feel like there was no one but us and the gangs.”

             
“Yeah, there are actually a fair number of people out there still. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, the Zims are starting to die out, but they’re being replaced by an equally big problem.” Winters pointed below the Rio Grande on a map on a wall. “Mexico, Venezuela, Cuba and Columbia, gentlemen. They’re a real fucking problem. The drug cartels in those countries were better equipped to survive the zombies than their own governments. Mexico has been flexing its muscle recently, shooting at our people and shit. Columbia even has a fucking navy they commandeered from other countries after there was no one left to protect the ships. They’ve been making offshore drilling and fishing a real hassle and stretching the Navy thin.

             
“You’re drilling offshore?” Allen seemed shocked, but then he grew up in the post-America is Great Era, a sad generation who’s teachers made them believe environmental moratoriums on capitalism through banning oil were a good thing. Most people Ethan’s age couldn’t be convinced of a simple truth. Republicans are Red, Democrats are Blue, Neither of Which, Gives a Fuck about You.

             
“We have to. The land based oil supply is still for strategic use only.”

             
“
Still.
” Ethan rolled his eyes. He had been a secret advocate of civil disobedience bordering on domestic terrorism since the movie
Fight Club
. He had often fantasized about his own
illegal underground boxing club
dedicated to burning down gas stations in protest of $6 a gallon gasoline. His opinion hadn’t changed much.

             
“We have almost three times the original population of Texas living here now. Like I said just a minute ago, New Mexico has been mostly cleared, but people are reluctant to move outside the military’s scope of immediate control.”

             
“So why exactly are we here? Our mayor didn’t really explain.” Ethan said, rolling up the sleeves on his uniform. Texas was a hot place.

             
“There are going to be representatives from as many townships like your own as we can get out here. So far there’s about fifteen.”

             
“Only fifteen? I thought you said there were over a hundred towns out there?”

             
“Yeah, but most of them are cut off. Others are hostile and some even refuse to believe us that there is still so much as a fragment of the US left.” Winters shrugged. “It’s a fucked up world, guys.”

             
“Let me ask you something.” Ethan interjected, “And I want your dead to rights serious answer.”

             
“Okay?”

             
“Is Texas going to eventually span it’s power over the continental US?”

             
“No. I can say that for certain.” Winters nodded. “Once the Zims are gone The Sovereign Congress has proposed a plan not unlike Manifest Destiny. They want to put at least two townships in every state before the end of the next decade and help put a new State Government in all fifty states again. It’s theorized that so long as Mexico is contained we can put the United States back together within fifty years. It’ll be more like Colonial America than the US we used to know, but it will be America. We will be United, and we will be Strong.”

             
“And Texas is just going to concede power to a new US government?” Ethan didn’t believe a damned word of it. “What kind of Rights can we expect? Our town is very Libertarian in its operation. We simply lack the ability to stick our noses in everyone else’s business, and we don’t intend to change that.”

             
“I think the America you’ll see rise will be more true to the original Articles of Confederation than a strong Federal Government like before. States are going to be responsible for themselves more often than not. The Federal Government that will be set up won’t have any power other than to levy taxes in order to protect the people from Foreign, Domestic, and Infected Enemies. As soon as every state has at least two representatives in congress Texas plans to reorganize and become a state again, though I admit many folks would rather we stay an independent republic.” Winters took a breath. This was a subject he loved talking about. “It’s widely accepted now that we fell because we were divided over how to handle the Plague instead of just handling it. Too many political parties, too many special interest groups vying to be heard, too many lies from the White House, and definitely too many foreign entanglements. That kind of crap doesn’t exist anymore. Obviously.” Winters knew what Ethan was looking for. He wanted to know that the pathetic, impotent, Anti-American Communists in Washington DC, the scum from both sides of the isle that tried to force their will on Americans for the last century, would never return. Probably because he intended to shoot them if they tried. Ethan was well aware that the Colonists didn’t just vote the British out, they shot them.

             
“Well then.” Allen smiled, “Is there a bar around here?”

              Calling a single wide trailer a bar might have been too generous, but it was exactly what the three men were looking for. Filled with cigar, cigarette and weed smoke so thick it was hard to see from one side to the other a pretty waitresses kept the alcohol, tobacco and buds flowing while a band made of formerly famous musicians made due with the junk instruments they’d saved from oblivion. One guitar was missing a string, but the music was more beautiful than anything they’d heard before. Life had a new flavor that only those who’d survived, and those who were free, could really savor. As “diplomats” they’d been given an open tab on the Texas government as a token of hospitality. Allen had already nosedived into a bottle of Southern Comfort and was teaching two Asian men, possibly the ones who’d flown some of the Chinese Republic planes forever grounded here, how to roll a cigarette with a filter. Lee found a group of stuck-up looking officer types and sat down to play a game of what appeared to be poker, though Ethan couldn’t tell, he wasn’t much of a card player. After getting himself another dark, foaming lager Ethan stepped out into the fresh night air, hit by a cool breeze that blew the smoke clear from him. He breathed in deep and tried to maintain his balance, no easy task as drunk and second-hand stoned as he was.

             
“Walk much?” Someone Ethan hadn’t seen asked him.

             
“Apparently not today.” He laughed, making his way slowly down the steps while men and women all dolled up in their best tattered, dirty clothing walked past him. He could smell the soap, the perfume, the detergents, but few people had new looking clothes down here. Each woman was a walking, talking example of pure sex appeal though. He giggled when it occurred to him that so many supermodels weren’t likely to be gathered in one place. Had the
Girls Gone Stupid
plane set down here too?

             
“Mind if I join you?” Ethan asked a stranger standing next to a hollowed out DC-3. He was glad to be in the fresh air, but needed something to lean against.

             
“Not at all.” The man had an accent, but Ethan couldn’t place it.

             
“Where you from?”

             
“I am…” The man smiled, “The last of the Afrikaners.”

             
Ethan didn’t know what exactly to say to that. “South Africa, right?” The man nodded, still holding his drink and puffing on a menthol light. “So I take it there is no more South Africa?”

             
The man shrugged, his neck disappearing below the white fur of his bomber jacket’s collar. “No bloody idea.”

             
“Then how do you know you’re the last?”

             
“Have you ever been to South Africa?” The man finally turned to look at Ethan, but it was only for a moment. His eyes were so blue they were almost white.

             
Ethan shook his head no. “I’ve been to three notable places in my life.” He took a sip of his beer. It was good and cold. “Colorado, Kuwait, and Iraq. Two out of three vacation destinations kinda sucked.”

             
The Afrikaner smiled. “Another Pawn in the ‘War of Terror’?”

             
“If we’re gonna quote movies, I think you can do better than
Borat
.”

             
That got the man to laugh a little, something he probably hadn’t done in a while. Deciding he liked Ethan, the South African pilot picked up the bottle and offered to take Ethan for a walk. He followed, partially because he was drunk and had a contact high, but also because this man might have something interesting to show or say. He could also be planning to kill, rob, or rape Ethan, but being inebriated had never stopped him from doing something stupid before. They wandered towards the tarmac, stopping next to a stripped down, beaten up Euro-fighter looking airframe. (Saab JAS 39 Griffon)

             
“This was my baby. I named her Jo-Mai, after a sweet little thing that rocked my world in town called Bangkok.” The Afrikaner smiled again and tipped his hat before downing the shot.

             
“
The Postman.
You watch a lot of American movies. What happened to her?”

             
“That I do. Do you mean the girl or the plane?” The Last Afrikaner said. Ethan gestured to what remained of the fighter plane. “Oh… Well… I don’t have any bloody money. What good are credit cards or Sou’frican money here? Lots of people want to keep their planes in the air and need spare parts, or just needed whatever. She was bone dry when I landed, so it’s not like I was going anywhere. Probably wouldn’t take her if I did. She gets lousy millage.” He laughed at his own joke.

             
“A fighter that size wouldn’t have the greatest range. How did you get to Texas?” Ethan touched the plane. He’d never actually been this close to a fighter jet before, even if it was little more than a skeleton now. Tactile contact does indeed alter one’s perception of something. Ethan could almost hear the roar of the engine and feel the cold sky rushing over the nearly picked clean skeletal remains of the once proud Saab.

             
“Drop tanks. Sold those first. During the evacuation of the homeland I just…” Setting the shot-glass down on an extended aileron the man put the bottle to his mouth and chugged. “… I just kept flying. Made it up the coast of Africa to Spain. Hopped to the Canary Islands… It’s all such a blur now. Everywhere I went they just
gave
me fuel. Sometimes they thought I was an American I guess, thought they’d get reimbursed or rescued. I lied to a lot of people to escape that place.” Ethan didn’t even know what to say to the man. He just kept listening. “I remember hearing the final transmissions from the Cape of Good Hope on my satellite radio… And then from the refugee ships, listening as so many reanimated aboard. Those ships are nothing but the barges of the damned now. So yes, Sheriff. I am the
last
Afrikaner.”

             
“You should write down your story. You don’t want all memory to fade into the mists of time, man.” Ethan handed him a blank leather bound notebook he’d been saving for himself. “My mailing address is on the inside cover… If you want… I’ve been collecting journals of people who are no longer with us. Might write a book one day. I’d be honored to put your story in it.”