the meek

A Novel by Zack Lehtinen

Prologue

Ever-growing Profits.

Never-ending Progress.

The dual religion of an age of Delusion.

A belief system.  As Universal as it was, seemed, as blindly and relentlessly followed-- it was a belief system, unrooted in reality.

And reality asserted itself.  Regardless of people's persistent beliefs, which collapsed like a house made from strands of straw, on a foundation of sand.

The final years of the Great Delusion were full of frantic, destructive behaviors.  The affordable post-growth remnant of fossil fuels was accessed orgiastically, devastating oceans with spills, watersheds with deep-underground earth-fracturing, digging up sands full of tar, dropping bombs and waging wars on most of those with the last of the "conventional" resources.  Mountaintops were removed in massive explosions to access coal within, and the ravines and rivers below filled with toxic mounds of mountain innards.  Forests were razed with a fury like warfare; dams fashioned lakes where once rainforests stood, and the habitats shriveled on islands where once there were hills.

It was destructive beyond anything previously accomplished by a life-form.  Their religion of Progress told them that they were the most advanced, most sophisticated, most enlightened beings ever to dwell upon a planet they alone could exploit in such a way, to such a point-- to the point of collapse.

*****

Human civilizations have always collapsed.  Everywhere.  Every time.  Maya.  Egypt.  Athens.  Rome.  England.  Numerous incarnations throughout Asia.  At various times, these places held empires on which "the sun never set"-- the largest, most expansive empires of their time.  And they all fell.  They lost a grip on their empires, they over-exhausted the resources of their realms, they caused ecosystem collapse in their regions, outside invasions compromised their spread-thin powers and defenses-- by these and other, related causes, every empire, every Great Civilization, has collapsed.

There was one significant difference in the last one-- the enterprise, the civilization, had become global, actually planet-wide in its scope and destructiveness-- and its collapse was thus planet-wide, as well.

It wasn't pretty.  But its ugliness had been somewhat masked by the comforts and convenience provided by the myriad products made using industrial methods, and by mass-scale entertainments and propaganda flowing from televisions, movie and computer screens, books, magazines and hand-held devices...

The world then shared a belief-system.  As aware as people were that problems plagued so many aspects of their society, most believed that continued progress, that technology, that a continually-growing economy, would provide solutions to all such problems.  All that was required was the proper leadership, the proper incentive, enough money and innovative ingenuity, and humans would solve all possible and potential problems.

This confidence and ill-supported belief merely allowed the massive plunder of the earth's life-systems, the pollution of land and sea and ecosystems everywhere, to expand exponentially, unchecked.  It wasn't everyday, ordinary people who directly caused the crisis-- massive companies, corrupt governments, laws and regulations which favored those doing the greatest damage-- and reaping the greatest profits-- held the greatest culpability.  But many "ordinary" people certainly played their part, allowing themselves to be dependent upon mass-produced products created by huge corporations, both in satisfying seemingly-infinite and constantly-manipulated desires and cravings and portals of escape from reality, but also, and crucially, for meeting their actual needs for survival.  So little time was spent by everyday people in fulfilling their own fundamental (actual) needs through the produce of their own hands, craftsmanship, and physical effort-- except for hobbyists, few even knew how to grow food, use hand tools, make furniture or knit (much less spin!) cloth, or sew...  People saw themselves as "consumers," and their main role in society and life was to "make" money, which was the one point of access most had to the necessities of survival...

And lo and behold-- many did not survive.

*****

*****

Centralized money and centralized government no longer exist.

The doctrine of expansion-- economic expansion, territory expansion, population expansion, empire-building, "Bigger is Better"-- has been firmly debunked as mass-suicidal.  Omnicidal, actually-- that is, it destroys, devours everything in its path, killing nearly everything, blazing a path to its own destruction.

Ironically, this doctrine had reached a great, unprecedented height at the time that Jesus Christ walked and preached against such human kingdoms, preached that "the meek shall inherit the earth." In the 300 years following Christ's death, many of his followers lived his example and preached the "good news" of a kingdom that would be "no part of this world." Yet, to greatly paraphrase history, an empire-building warlord named Constantine realized that making this new religion part of his plans for empire, making this faith of "the meek" into the official religion of the empire, would help him to gain more power than attempting to destroy it-- and in so doing, he and the politically-powerful Church which has played a monolithic role in Western culture ever since, succeeded in subverting that Message.  The "good news" of a kingdom "no part of this world" was distorted sufficiently to become a major tool in the further expansion of Empire-- and by the final years of the Crisis, the heirs of this Empire had created a "kingdom" which essentially circled the earth.

And nearly destroyed it.

It certainly took many species and ecosystems with it.  Some ecosystems and habitats have since recovered-- the extinct species will never return.

Which marks one of the fundamental tenets of the New Understanding-- of what we strive never to revive.  The climax of the Great Undoing was marked by, among so many other things, the greatest mass-extinction "event" since the disappearance of the dinosaurs.  Such mass-extinctions are rare to a degree that is humanly unimaginable-- the most recent was approximately 65 million years ago-- and though inter-species competition and species overpopulation have been contributing factors in past extinctions, this was the first mass-extinction event primarily caused and aggravated to extremity by a single species.

By our species.  More specifically, by "our" civilization, and fossil-fueled industrial-technological society, in particular.

Since the dawn of industrialism, the planet has been more thoroughly manipulated, paved-over, rivers dammed, land, air and water tainted with poisons, synthetic chemicals, radiation; more powerful weapons have been devised and used, on unprecedented scale, against humans, "pests" and plant-life alike; and more chemicals and life-forms have been "created" and entered into the stream of life than could have previously been imagined, by chemists, genetic manipulators, scientific technologists of every stripe.

Much of this damage, much of this overwhelming destruction, was caused by the participation of individuals who didn't think of what they were doing as being damaging, or wrong.  Many of the developments humanity introduced to the planet were astonishing, ingenious, and caused little or no harm in and of themselves-- or caused minimal harm in individual cases.  But humanity-- partly due to its earlier innovations such as agriculture and the formation of cities, then empires-- gained a massive population foothold on the planet, and industrial, techno-logical humanity consumed vast amounts of energy and other planet-sourced "resources"-- not-least, food and the land to grow it on-- much of which myriad other creatures, insects and plant species lived on and depended upon for their own existence.  

*****

We have had to re-teach ourselves.  We had great motivation, "incentive" as an economist would have called it.  

But we have no more economists.

We do retain many invaluable things from the past-- not primarily from the final two centuries of rampant technology and associated energy-glut, but more crucially, the sacred writings and wisdom of the ages...  The words attributed to Buddha, Christ, the simple brilliance of the Tao te Ching, the writings and recorded words of myriad philosophers through the ages...

Literature, philosophy, indigenous wisdom and attitudes toward the natural world; plays and music, which can be learned and performed.  Acoustic and classical instruments, and the knowledge of how to fabricate them, simply and ornately.

Organic gardening and permaculture; sciences, including alchemy and the Newtonian shift, his work and that which came gushing following Sir Isaasc; art, sculpture, painting, drawing, dying cloth, spinning and sewing and knitting and so much more.

But our parents start us early with reading.  

They never taught us reading, actually.  They read to us until we had questions, answered the questions about the alphabet, sounds and words…  Eventually, pretty soon actually, we began reading on our own.

Our shelves were well-stocked.  Every book was amazing.

Our whole family, simply in love with reading.  Everything, but particularly classics of every sort and background.

*****

*****

Unfortunately, the Cataclysm was essential.  Not as a judgement, but as a demonstration of inevitability, Karma, Newton's 3rd Law of Physics: "For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction."  A law of nature, 

And humankind, after over a century-plus of massive exploitation of the planet, overuse of burned fossil fuels and artificial expansion of the carrying capacity of the planet through chemical fertilizing of depleted soils, diversion of watersheds and depletion of groundwater stores, creation of incredibly toxic radioactive waste through nuclear power and bomb construction, and myriad other means of despoiling land, air and water, while enabling the numbers of humankind as a species to spiral exponentially upward, far beyond a finite earth's capacity to support ecologically, much-less to support in the omni-destructive, all-consuming "lifestyle" to which so-called "first world" humankind became accustomed during the build-up and crescendoed finale of the Great Insanity-- humankind certainly provoked a REACTION.  The laws of physics-- the laws of nature, which aren't written and can be flouted only to the extent that their inevitable reactions have yet to be triggered, or have through various machinations been forestalled-- eventually, inevitably come to bear, in every case.

*****

*****

The Myth of Progress has been re-evaluated.  It has been difficult for many who remain-- but general recognition has spread that the overall arc of history, starting with the dawn of agriculture, then cities, then empires, eventually industry and high technology-- has been a crescendo of ever-increasing destruction.  The destructive capacity of humanity in the final century-plus of its experiment with Civilization was inconceivably vast-- the eventual collapse was similarly colossal.

Though obviously, their society had grown so complex and involved that no one member could hold all of the information necessary to "run" such a monstrous, convoluted machine, it is vaguely astonishing that, at least toward the end, more did not see, know and understand what was clear to see-- that the structure of their complex existence was unsustainable, was killing so much life on the planet, and was bound to destroy (many, many of) them as well.

People talked a lot, wrote a lot, made highly-produced fictional and documentary movies which danced around these issues.  There were those who knew, who understood, who attempted to spread the truth of their culture's destructiveness, of the need for self-reflection and fundamental change on a society-wide scale, or at the very least preparedness on individual and community scales.  But this group remained a small minority, and the momentum of techno-industrial civilization's destructiveness continued to increase exponentially.  The vast majority of "civilized" humans of the time were bent on ignoring the destruction, enjoying their distractions and comforts and planet-spanning "lifestyle"-- and leaving the details up to those "in charge."  Everybody merely wanted, more than any other thing, to make more money than they already did.  Poor people did, and needed to.  "Middle class" people did, and in the final decades of a slumping economy preparing to collapse, many of these suddenly found themselves among the poor themselves, totally caught by surprise and too late to really make a crucial difference.

Amidst all of this, there were two groups, both much more numerous than the middle class-and-above in the "civilized" world-- the vast numbers of impoverished humanity, and the non-human living species across the planet.  Both of these groups had very little say in the decisions, policies and consumption of those devouring and polluting the earth.  Both were in constant jeopardy as the situation ever-worsened for habitats and ecosystems everywhere.  Animals and plants went extinct.  Poor humans starved, or got slave-level jobs working in unspeakable conditions for the multi-national corporations and governments ravenous for ever-more, MORE!

Yet, ironically, it was indigenous and self-sufficient poor humans, and those animals which did find niches in which to survive technological civilization, who were best-equipped when the collapse finally occurred.  Civilized techno-humanity had forgotten how to grow food and sew cloth for themselves.  Their warmth in winter, the materials for constructing and the appliances filling the homes in which they lived-- all that they "consumed," including necessities for survival--  were produced elsewhere, by unknown, unseen (underpaid, frequently near-starving) "others." They were helpless to provide for themselves, had lost the knowledge and art of finding or growing food, building shelter, making clothing.

Suddenly, they were helpless.  Making money was all they knew.  Suddenly, money had no value.  They had to learn to survive.  And time was short, resources were spent, the earth was polluted and thoroughly ransacked.

It wasn't pretty.

*****

*****

Those of us who survived-- how did we do it?  Those of us who were embedded participants in techno-industrial society, who were born during the ramp-up of insanity-- how did we discover a niche of survival on the sinking ship of civilization?

Part One:  Inheritance and Nemesis  

Shall Inherit

In a 2005 survey of 85 national security experts, 60 percent of the respondents assessed the odds of a nuclear attack within 10 years at between 10 and 50 percent, with an average of 29.2 percent.

-Dan Farber, for CBS News

When violence, when death occurs on a vast scale, much of the death is random and senseless, and cannot be explained in moral, ethical, or causal terms.  Such was the terminus of the Great Insanity.  Many perished who had done nothing wrong, who led blameless lives, generally-- just as many plants and animals, whole species, were eradicated, never to return.  

But again, there were those who survived.  Survived the great, final wars.  Survived the collapse of monetary currency planet-wide.  Survived the collapse of most advanced technology, of the vaunted infrastructures of communication, transportation and networked computing which had progressed so rapidly in the final decades of the techno-industrial Dream-turned-Nightmare.

When these things all collapsed, suddenly, rather simultaneously; when the wars erupted which took so many innocents in flashes of nuclear annihilation and mass-imprisonments of civilian populations which made the German Holocaust look minuscule by comparison; when these multiple crises and massive crimes against humanity, against life itself, spiraled out of control in every corner of the planet, many were lost who had done little or nothing to precipitate the crises, who were simply swept into the massive current of the river of destruction.

Yet we survived.  Some of us survived.  Many amongst the extremely wealthy of the final generation felt confident that they had prepared themselves to be safe from a collapse.  That is not how it happened, though.  Others stockpiled private armaments and "survival" rations of canned and other non-perishable foods.  These tended to prove the veracity of that timeless statement:  "He who lives by the sword shall die by the sword."  As far as "survival" pantry stocks-- these eventually ran out, or were invaded by neighbors who knew about or discovered their existence.

Between the extremes of massive wealth and militant survivalist subcultures were hundreds of millions of "ordinary" people, approximately middle class, who never understood or believed that the crisis was coming, or that it would occur so suddenly and swiftly.  In technological civilization, almost none of these were prepared for maintaining their basic survival through any means other than money.  The vast majority responded willingly, immediately, when government and other powers offered them food and protection, first in sectioned-off ghettos, then in camps (the camps were first populated with those who, early in the crisis period, began committing crimes in their scramble to survive-- as well as with immigrants and suspected terrorists of every stripe).  As industrial-scale agriculture began to weaken and collapse, though, and transportation infrastructure broke down due to skyrocketing fuel costs and breakdown of long-neglected roads, bridges and such, the promised food became scarce and unreliable-- and people began to realize that the camps supposedly designed on their behalf and for their protection, also served as makeshift prisons, which became ever-more reinforced and inescapable as the months and years of crisis ramped swiftly steeper.

Many who lived in populated cities (the ones which had not been bombed into radioactive deserts) and their established suburbs were amongst those who first, and most willingly, went along with "programs" leaving them at the mercy of government, military and corporate authorities.  These three entities began to merge into a single seamless monolith of overarching power, a military corporate oligarchy in which democratic elections and the consent of the governed played not even a superficial part any longer.  The world's largest corporations had been operating as autocratic tyrannies for so long already within their own organizations, and had been influencing policy makers, judges and presidencies so thoroughly for so many decades, that the shift to full political power and military leadership on their part was a fluid, nearly invisible transition.  Anybody who protested visibly the dissolution of democracy was pronounced an enemy of the state and imprisoned indefinitely.  So many in or near major population centers either went along willingly, or were imprisoned early in the sudden transition to the new order of things, that they were in immediate jeopardy when the crisis deepened further.

Away from cities, rural and wilderness communities had been undergoing a steady economic impoverishment and accompanying flight-- especially among younger generations-- for decades leading up to the dawn of the crises.  Those who remained were of various sorts:  small-time criminals, growing, "cooking" or simply distributing various illicit drugs; small organic farmers, not dependent upon the chemical fertilizer and pesticide industries as those began to rapidly implode, bankrupting many industrial-scale farmers and exposing so many to sudden food shortages; the aforementioned survivalist-militia sorts, who banded together in fortress communities as conditions worsened; and those-- whether in small clan-like communities or individual households-- who pursued a life "off the land," far enough from the public eye not to attract attention, self-sufficient enough to supply at least the majority of their own food, and aware of which edible and medicinal plants, fruits, nuts, berries and mushrooms grew wild in their region, which they actively foraged and stored.  These latter were particularly prepared for the multiple criteria of surviving best through the cascading crises of the time:  they had less need and deire to immediately take refuge in corporate-government "support" communities which turned into prison camps in so many cases; as economies crumbled and ease of transportation dissolved, these were able to survive free of centralized dependence, and without pursuing continued trade ties with others, which meant remaining "off the radar," invisible to aggressive neighbors and centralized powers.  Militia groups tended to retain ties of trade and dependence upon centralized powers and cities, and their weapons proved useless at best, self-destructive when push came to shove and the military aimed its superior might against their "aggression."  Small organic farmers had the capacity to persist and pursue self-sufficiency, but their continued ties of trade and dependency kept them visible to outside powers, many of which exploited them to their maximum capacity and beyond, over time expanding their operations against their will and instigating a sort of post-industrial feudal order of serfdom.  Though their farms and knowledge of farming proved invaluable to their survival, it became a progressively less and less tolerable existence for these farmers, and the new economic order put them in a position of perpetual servitude to central powers.  As far as those involved in drug trade and other petty criminality and on-the-margins, mostly illicit trade-- they were able to maintain survival and relative invisibility for a time, and their wares were prized in a time of ever-increasing misery-- but petty internal conflicts and the criminality of their existence led to myriad avenues to their (largely self-) elimination.  Though the trades continued to exist within and outside of the urban centers, and be supplied from the rural growers and "cooks," the inherent hazards and miseries of the trade and its accompanying lifestyle only intensified as times became more difficult for everyone.

*****

*****

My parents established a homestead some distance down a rural dirt road.  Before the crises, my mother had been a nurse, and my father a teacher, although they both also wrote a good deal.  My mother's nursing skills certainly came in handy when the crises increased, though industrialized pharmaceuticals quickly went the way of all other industrial products, and my mother took to poring through books of nutrition and herbal medicine, which had already been an interest of hers but transitioned into a necessity as myriad even previously-commonplace medicines and pain-relievers became unavailable.  Once, when the Great Unraveling was impending but still far-off in the minds of many, my mother had bought bulk quantities of ibuprofen and stored them in a large air- and water-tight container in our basement.  It lasted many years, as she only used it in cases when she felt certain such a pain reliever was absolutely necessary-- but when she did use it for a patient, she didn't inform their family, and swore them to secrecy.  She knew that in an age of desperation, somebody in possession of a pharmaceutical pain reliever could be a target, in jeopardy even for their life.

My parents were also amongst a select group who, once it became evident that nuclear exchange was a clear and present likelihood, anticipated the potentially years-long nuclear winter which several scientists surmised.  They recognized that such an event could lead to the eradication of many-to-all growing things in an area, and in a worst-case scenario this die-off would be permanent, and the end of earthly life would result.  But an alternate scenario was that life-- persistent, miraculous Life-- would cling to existence, and that if our family were among those who eked our way through as well, the consecutive years of nearly-no summer would eventually trail off, and growing seasons would again appear.  In anticipation of this hope, my parents were not alone in storing a large supply of sprouting seeds, dried beans and grains, as well as many types of edible seeds.  Even if cooking became difficult due to fuel inaccessibility and the danger of being discovered with an open flame by hostile individuals, these foods could always be sprouted to unlock their maximum nutrition, and are easy to store for long periods before sprouting.

Our family operated under similar assumptions with all of our survival strategies.  Early-on in the crisis, my parents abandoned our backyard vegetable garden plot and allowed the yard to become overgrown (one irony being that many of the "weeds" overtaking the yard were in fact edible, highly-nutritious native plants).  As we lived within walking distance of many miles of trails, semi-wilderness, meadows, forest and streams, my family took to intentionally planting vegetables, herbs, grains, and seeds from regional and native plants for miles in all directions.  Some of these natives actually survived through the handful of years of stunted summers-- but thankfully, the nuclear winter (which in reality took more a form that might be described as "nuclear autumn"-- that is, though things cooled, and the sun was obscured for a time, it was no repeat of any ice age, and thankfully lasted only a handful of years before rapidly returning to the "normal" world which was still ever-warming due to previous fossil-fuel emissions) wound down, and eventually summers returned and we were able to grow a great variety of foods.  We planted fruit and nut trees, berry shrubs and vines, grains, every sort of edible and medicinal plants, and kept track of where each grew best naturally.  We became sort of semi-agricultural gatherers and occasional hunters, usually only eating the meat of fish from local streams and ponds, and small game which we hunted using simple slingshots and occasionally bow and arrows.

Our general procedure, once it became clear how things were unraveling, was to steer clear of using any sort of light source at night.  In fact, during all warm seasons, the home itself is a rare site for overnight sleeping.  We have built myriad camouflaged, comfortable sleeping shelters all over within hiking distance-- up in trees, tucked into dense shrubbery, in caves with hidden entrances, in camouflaged underground or mud-walled or sapling-constructed structures dotted throughout the region.  As kids (and now as a young teen), it was (and remains) an endless source of absorbing fun to dream up and construct yet another sleeping shelter, and we are good at it, quickly completing structures without using any tools or hardware, only from materials in the environment itself, which last years, are weather-proof, cozy and comfortable to sleep in.  

We have dug multiple root cellars, in the various areas we've planted, which allow long-term, all-season storage of all less-perishable and dried foods, year-round.  Though we're aways cautious and aware of our surroundings, none of us ever entered one of the camouflaged root cellars if we even sensed that we were in view of a stranger.  As we stocked multiple cellars, we would always have food stores even if somebody discovered and raided one of them-- and not one was ever raided, nor did strangers get into our territory all that often.

Though we were a self-sufficient homestead (as unconventional as our homestead was), we certainly didn't go-it entirely alone.  We knew others in the community, those who were well-established and trustworthy, and we knew people who would pass through at certain times of the year with supplies of sea salt from the Atlantic, dried kelp (very nutritious, and an important source of natural iodine in a time when radioactive fallout was a background threat to everybody's health), and other commodities gleaned directly from nature but out of our direct reach.  Everybody had to re-evaluate notions of what constituted "necessity," as anything which required centralized production, or had to come from a central authority, was a danger to everybody's existence.  As so few things could be mass-produced any longer, anything which resembled or evoked nostalgia for that previous world could be used as a lure by those who wanted all populations under their direct control.  It was dangerous to even want such things, as their seductive power drew many away, into what remained of cities, and these people were never seen or heard from again.

So we learned, and we knew, who we could trust.  We were all very close.  There were many other kids in the larger community as I was growing up, and we all roamed the hillsides, playing, building, planting, harvesting, telling stories, discussing things, swimming in rivers, lakes and large ponds, spinning threads and making clothes.  Those who were known to be members of the community could know about our root cellars (and I knew about theirs), knew what plants were edible, knew which paths led where.  We all shared freely with one another.  We would congregate in groups for music and improvised theater performances, for celebrations of any sort, during the day or at night on full moons (the best time to be awake and with others after dark, as all kept to the precaution of utilizing no light sources after night fell).  Full moons in an open area-- from the warming of spring through the warm months of early fall, there would be a gathering every full moon, always ecstatic.

*****

I began helping with all of the tasks which made up our life at a young age.  I learned to identify and help propagate edible plants, and to harvest, dry and store them at harvest time.  I learned to cook, and to prepare the many raw foods which made up the bulk of our diet.  I learned to make and use hunting implements, but rarely used them for hunting, as we preferred not to kill animals for food.  I have a memory from my youngest years of helping to milk the goat we had then-- in the years since we set her free, we have gone without dairy products almost entirely, though mom and dad both say they occasionally miss eating cheese, and we know a few within our region who have a goat or cow, and we trade with them for cheese or yogurt from time to time.  We also used to raise chickens, and I remember my childhood glee at finding eggs in the coop-- but as with the goat, we eventually set the chickens free.  Now I can't quite imagine the barbarism of eating the ovum of another sentient species-- it seems very strange, and cruel.

Back in those days, my youngest years, the crisis was still an obscure specter to many.  Though all were talking about "the economy" and the threat of "terrorists," and even the ecological threats including climate change reached mainstream news reports, although in extremely watered-down and equivocal terms dictated by the massive fuel and energy industries that didn't want people "alarmed" by such news-- most didn't understand the gravity of impending events, and people like my parents seemed extreme and radical to most.  The common refrain of the time was "technology will solve all of these problems"-- but the reality was that technology and civilization had created the problems, and they were larger-scale problems than the planet had ever faced-- and particularly as so few were honest about the  magnitude and causes of the problems, few were willing to address or seriously entertain even the direction which would have begun to point toward effective solutions.

Homesteaders, "back-to-the-landers" were seen as a queer bunch, off in "their own world," disconnected from reality as techno-industrial society understood it.  They were understood, if at all, as reactionary chicken-little types at the fringe of society, mistrustful of technology and modernity, out of touch with the Progress which had led to the utopian, abundant lives of regular people.  They tended not to value or appreciate money, status, fashion, the comfort, convenience and incredible ease and efficiency of communication, computing, transportation and trade made possible by the ever-mounting progress of humankind.  As far as problems created by these technologies and human "success," it was clear to most that human ingenuity and intelligence would obviously solve all such problems.  Yet this smugness led most to a distinct lack of action, an inability to make effective, serious changes of any sort that didn't connote an increase in their consumption, in their average use of fossil fuels and other energy sources, spreading access to this "lifestyle" into every possible crevice of humanity.  In other words, while criticizing homesteaders as "extreme" and even a bit "loopy," the majority refused to acknowledge the sheer suicidal insanity of the mainstream culture they were steeped in, refused to think more deeply than their favorite infotainment source urged or allowed them to-- and like ostriches, most continued to consume as much as possible with their heads buried firmly beneath the sand.

Many technological "fixes" were offered by scientific-minded innovators in the final years before the crises really kicked into gear.  Self-driving cars powered by electricity, solar power grids, wind and tidal energy were all hyped as "answers" to "our energy dilemma"-- missing almost entirely the true nature of the actual dilemma: far-reaching, full-gallop planetary collapse.  Nuclear energy became hyped as "clean energy" because it didn't involve burning fossil fuels, even though the waste byproducts of producing such energy were the furthest thing from "clean" in the entire varied panoply of human waste-"production."  The words "clean coal" were highly-advertised, as though such a thing existed.  Every sort of ingenuity was expended in a society-wide effort to ignore the problems most were ignoring, while constantly increasing the underlying behaviors which were causing the constant increase of the actual, unavoidable problems technology was only exacerbating.  Technology, economy, military, corporate, political, urban, "cutting-edge":  all of these things were chipping away at the natural systems which made life possible in the first place, ever-faster, vaster in scale...

And the majority chose to ignore, and barely noticed or tolerated those who went another way.

And much of this former majority is no longer.  And they took many innocents with them.

A New Earth

What happened to those of extreme wealth, who invested so heavily in the propaganda of the  status quo in the frantic final years while consolidating political and military power under their control?  In those chaotic years, as the multiple crises converged and came to a head across the planet, these elite enjoyed a level and expanse of power which had been the fantasy of kings and emperors at the heads of civilizations from the earliest times, from the formation of the first cities and empires.  Their reach extended across continents and around the globe, their military was a privatized, mercenary force lording over “national” armies of every nation, paid for by those who had hoarded the vast majority of all global wealth to their own coffers, leaving scraps and crumbs to the remainder of humanity.

Despite what their propaganda and wholly-owned media reported, most of those at the top of this pyramid scheme knew full-well what science warned about the perils the planet faced, and knew even better what the most accurate economic forecasts heralded.  A few hypnotized themselves with their own false versions of these scenarios, but many were fully-aware of the truth, and spent money and effort attempting to create “safe havens” for themselves and their families and peers before the collapses got underway.  They understood that civilization and the planet as a whole, as with the RMS Titanic over a century earlier, were in great jeopardy, and there were limited dependable lifeboats available.  Though the complexity of civilization’s systems, and even greater complexity and unpredictability of earth’s life-systems, meant that there was no way to predict fully and accurately what would occur over what timescale, and who (if any) might survive such multiple calamities, the very-wealthy oligarchs did their utmost to understand, and to prepare sufficient shelter to withstand the impending collapses.  They built massive cave-cities deep in mountains, filling them with advanced weaponry, small hired armies, and massive stores of non-perishable food.  They researched which parts of the planet were likely to suffer the least from the multiple known threats and destabilizations, from climate-related ecosystem collapse, to sea-level rise, to radiation fallout from known-inevitable nuclear conflict.  They re-adjusted their command-and-control structures so that they, themselves, could avoid spending undue time in large cities and other “target” zones, but could run their empires effectively from their remote bunker-home-offices.  Most of these most wealthy, actually-ruling elites were not well-known, famous figures.  They were shrouded, protected, hidden from view as they controlled the levers of actual power, and prepared for a future they felt only they were prepared-for.  

But, despite all their foreknowledge, plans and provisions, there were factors which these ruling elites could not predict or effectively control.  In order to secure their safe-havens, they had to employ expert soldier-mercenaries; as the world around everyone slipped into steep decline and collapse, and nuclear strikes took out many major cities (sure to evacuate themselves, the elites also made certain that key cities were eliminated without so many nuclear strikes occurring that irretrievable damage was done to the planet's fundamental ability to support life; they knew, for example, that a full nuclear winter would not occur based on the strategically-selected major cities they had participated in picking as global targets of "war"),

the families of the mercenary soldiers they had hired were suddenly suffering, or worse, gone forever, like so many "ordinary" people.  The structures of protection the very-wealthy had needed to shield them from "outside" discontent and revolt suddenly turned back on them, in almost every instance-- even a paid mercenary will not continue to protect or support someone who allows the death or near-mortal suffering of their own family members; eventually, such a hollow authority will collapse from below.  Even in cases where  corporate/ political titans were well-insulated and protected even from their own mini-armies, it was only a matter of time as their expertly-trained forces pursued siege strategies against them, waiting until their food stocks were depleted and they either starved or surrendered.  When people have nothing left to lose, they can be extremely persistent and patient.

Which left roving armies of expert soldiers free to roam, pillaging as they went.

*****

*****

By the time I was seven years old, wave after tidal wave of collapse and full-out war and evisceration of the world's economic, energy, transportation, technology and food infrastructure had already impacted, and left wreckage in their wake.  I was too young at the time to now remember when the TV, internet and retail marketplace all stopped functioning, though I have vague very-young memories of seeing TVs and computers working, of being in stores before they all became empty warehouses-- and of course my parents and other surviving elders have told me much, in great detail, of what "normal" life had been like back-then.  In the first decade or more after the first crises transpired, the world became a very dangerous place for those not-already deceased.  We children were all taught utmost wariness, stealth and attention to even the slightest sounds, smells, or other variations in the environment, as we roamed, played, built and helped with the tasks of living.  We became experts at camouflage, and all of our clothes were (made from, and) the same colors and textures as the world we lived in, so we could immediately take refuge in silent invisibility at the slightest hint of peril.  

I recall many community councils in those early years, in which my parents and the rest of those living in our rural region discussed the many threats to survival, and strategies to support one another in continued existence.  As so many cities at the major centers of commerce and government had been destroyed in the nuclear exchanges, it became clear early-on that previously-conventional means of transportation, communication and energy-use were gone, and not to be depended-upon.  We were fortunate that most in our region were already familiar with skills of self-sufficiency, small-scale farming, and people such as my parents were early identified for their knowledge and books on things such as natural building and organic gardening without manufactured fertilizers or soil amendments.

Suddenly, life was very local, and always on the verge of mortal jeopardy.

But after the first decade, and only a few deaths in our region at the hands of roving marauders or the greatly-feared former elite mercenary soldiers-- things quieted down, and fears began to subside.  We lived remotely enough, and survivors everywhere (however many there were) had such a mandate to focus on their own survival and present-tense needs, that our non-wealthy, out-of-the-way, sparsely-populated region didn't stand out as a target to those eager to rob or exploit.  Even our lack of aggressive weapons, counterintuitively perhaps, helped us to be passed over, little-noticed.  I guess the reasoning goes:  if you have weapons, you must at least think you have something worth protecting-- and thus, worth taking.  Also, mercenary veterans with a mind to dominate other survivors speak the language of violence, and respond swiftly and decisively to violent challenge.  Those who pose no violent threat, and live peaceably, remotely, in small numbers, are all-but invisible, and certainly of little to no interest to expert warriors.  Despite the few interactions we had with such, and the fact that the frequency of incidence slowed down to pretty much nothing within the first decade, we still kept on our guard.  There certainly remained malicious forces in the world, and news traveled slowly.  Over time, our awareness of the world outside our region was vague at best.

*****

"You think the berries will ripen soon?"

"They should.  We should certainly start passing by some of the spots on a daily basis, 'cuz once they're ripe, we want to beat the birds to at least some of the harvest."

"Yep.  Exactly." 

It has become my little sister's habit to ask questions like this when we're roaming-- she's old enough, been through enough seasons in her short life, that she knows the answers to most of these questions.  She seems to ask them just to verify, test her sense of things.  She's never arrogant, and her awareness of the world is honed now to a great degree of accuracy.

"Hey-- wanna check the shelter up this ravine?  After that storm a few days back, it may need some shoring-up."

"We can check if you want-- but that one's been there since before you were born-- I remember building it-- and it's rarely seen any damage."

"I like that one.  Mostly just want to check it out, maybe hang out there for a bit."

"Yeah, sure.  There's no rush."

Our life is seldom rushed.  Sure, there's a lot to accomplish on any given day, in each season.  Harvest is the big time of year, although technically we start harvesting food from the first late-spring ripening of greens, throughout the summer...  We eat our fill, sun-dry or simply transport into cold storage whatever is surplus...  Plenty grows to last through the year, so as long as we're always putting some aside, storing and preserving it properly, there's no rush even during the harvest season.

Which we're now entering.

We reach the ravine shelter.  I built it years ago with my best friend, an amalgam of bent saplings, clay mud mixed with dried grasses and twigs, and a thatch mini-roof overlaid with a cover of growing vines which conceal it entirely.  

"See, the roof has some chunks missing up near this edge, where the water came rushing downhill in the storm.  Looks like it leaked a bit.  The floor's soppy."

"Yeah.  I see.  You're right.  As usual.  I'll go up here and re-dig a culvert to divert the water away from the place next time."

"I know what to do about the roof repair."

"Great.  Have at it."

No point in being annoyed with her for always being right.  Just gotta accept it and move on.  Sure to come in handy sometime in the future when something actually urgent comes up.

We both have the habit of whistling while we work, so when we're nearby one another, we almost always harmonize.  I start the melody this time, and she weaves an intricate, busy scatter of notes around my simple tune.  It sounds great, and we both keep up with our respective flows, mine slow and simple, hers flitting and frenetic.  The contrast makes the song better, and the time goes by quickly.  By the time we've finished the tune, we've both also completed our jobs.

A great thing about time spent with my younger sister is that she was born after the crises and transformation had begun-- her entire context for life is of the life we now lead.  No computers, no highways or vehicles traveling tens of miles per hour.  Walking is our means of transportation.  She doesn't miss the world she never knew (I barely remember or knew it, and I don't miss it either), though we both love to hear stories about it.  Though my parents and others who share the stories with us are clear about the many almost-magical, incredible capabilities of the former world-- they also caution regularly that the benefits, real and imagined, of that world were severely outweighed by the destructiveness of the worldview which dominated and overwhelmed the earth itself-- a worldview which caused the destruction which is plain to see, and too broad to even want to imagine in areas not all that far from here.  I see it as one distinct blessing of not having television any longer in this age-- with all the (still recent) destruction, we'd be seeing many brutal images of flattened, charred former cities and the results of the desperate violence and starvation which plagued so many areas outside the cities.  We're by no means ignorant of these things-- the trauma of having to look at the fruit that former world bore every day on a TV screen or (also now nonexistent) magazine or newspaper cover page-- well, to reiterate, it's just as well such media no longer exist.

On the other hand, we have plenty of books. Our parents do.  They both read a lot well before the ramp-up of calamities, books which accurately predicted what was impending when most "mainstream media" (mostly TV, Internet and magazines) were scoffing at such "alarmism"-- as well as many literary and spiritual/ philosophical classics.  Their large library of physical books is the one prized possession which would be a great tragedy to lose.  I have spent many, many hours reading and pondering over the books in that library.  What a treasure.

When we get to the pond near the hilltop meadow, the sound of frogs croaking is pervasive.  It is great to know that some frogs have survived, since so many throughout the planet went extinct as the earth's climate began warming.  Who knows if they'll continue in this toxic world-- frogs are very sensitive to toxins and changes in their environment-- but for now, their broad chorus is a consolation, and perhaps a sign that there is some hope of a future for life.  The lotus pads afloat along the surface of the pond are yet to produce blossoms, but my sister wades in to harvest just a few anyway.  We eat all parts of a lotus plant-- the blossoms are delicious!-- but possibly the best are the rhizomes (like roots, they grow underground, but they're actually stems which propagate new plants wherever they meander), crisp and delicious, sweet and something like water chestnut in texture, the rhizomes don't ripen until late summer and early autumn, but now, in spring, the tender pads at the surface, and their stems just beneath, make delicious, refreshing snacks.  She hands me a few, and we both munch as we begin walking again after pausing a bit to look out across the pond, as we do for at least a few minutes every time we visit it.  Like so much of this landscape, every season, every week, offers its own, unique beauty.  Less than three months ago, the stark icy beauty of this pond, with snow mounds atop it, thick enough ice to walk and slide across, was entirely distinct from this living, green, new-life bursting of mid-spring.  Autumn color reflecting across the pond takes my breath away, and summer's ebullient green abundance and hours of swimming...  Each season, each day possesses its own gifts, and we receive gladly.

Less than a mile further on, we cross paths with Liam and Ava.  Also siblings, Liam is a bit younger than me, and Ava is around my sister's age, I think a little older.

"Have you heard?"

"Heard what?"

"Not good..."

"What?!"

"Soldiers..."

"What kind of soldiers?  Where?"

"I don't know.  We don't yet know if it's just rumors-- but someone over in our area heard something, and we don't know where the story originated-- but we're not taking chances."

"How many?"

"Don't know that either, yet."

"Oh man.  Soldiers."

"That can't be good."

"Exactly."

"I'm scared."

That last was my sister.  I must admit, I'm a little shaken myself.  Of course, she has no memory of a world before, and to her soldiers are mostly just scary characters in stories.  Figments and ghosts.  And all the scarier for it.

"We should go home.  Let Mom and Dad know."

I nod my consent.  Though I have a feeling, somehow, that they already know.

Many-Headed Beast

And they worshipped the dragon which gave power unto the beast: and they worshipped the beast, saying, Who is like unto the beast? who is able to make war with him? And there was given unto him a mouth speaking great things and blasphemies; and power was given unto him to continue forty and two months. 

Revelation 13: 4,5

Power and strategy-- we know these things.  

How to gain power-- how to hold onto power.  How to conquer, to vanquish an opponent, an enemy, a foe-- and how to maintain advantage gained.  This is the true Wisdom of the Ages-- the bottom-line and premier accomplishment of all civilization, of science and culture, of empires into ancient past, and ever-more refined, ever-more potent, effective and devastating as technology and human achievements advanced, until that Ultimate Moment, the wars and collapse which took it All.

We were in The Right Place.  The Wrong Place was in the seats of power, in the in the White House and Capitol Building, the Kremlin and Vatican and Bundestag, the largest cities and the most revered holy ones.  Those places no longer exist, and those who held power from seats in those places also no longer exist.

We knew who really held the reins of power-- they hired us, because we are the best.  They dominated and controlled the centers of power, but they didn't live there.  And they certainly knew better than to be there when it happened.

*****

When the radioactive dust settled, we lived in fortress caves which protected us from the radioactive clouds; we had stores enough to survive the first few years, the nuclear winter, during-which many outside of the targeted cities, even those far enough to be less impacted by nuclear fallout, began to fade and fall by the wayside due to fast-dwindling food supplies and the consecutive years without a full, warm summer season.  

As-if most average, modern people even had any idea how to grow food.  No, food came from a supermarket.  When the supermarkets lost their supply chains and fell like big-box dominoes, when everybody's salaries and investment dividend checks and social security and pensions and bi-monthly paychecks stopped rolling in-- most were left as helpless and vulnerable as the inhabitants in the shadow of Vesuvius in 24 A.D.

Many perished, but of course, a good number remained, hung on.  Among those who expired,  with nary a second thought from our superiors regarding their fate, were many of Our Own wives, children and families.  Unlike in the wars abroad we'd fought over those decades in the far-off Middle East, the previous Cold War with the former Soviet Union, or the penultimate Trade Wars with China and the Far East before the full-scale conflict really got underway-- in all of these, the casualties, the "collateral damage," the victims of drone attacks and daisy-cutter bombs and "shock & awe" and "enhanced interrogation" had all been faceless, Terrorist, Other...  But suddenly, our own families were no longer.  Suddenly, the Collateral Damage was Our Own.  And somehow, the Very Rich and Very Powerful who paid so handsomely for our elite services, so distant in their ivory towers, failed to even notice that this distinction, this crucial difference had come to pass.

And so, though they had massive protections and ironclad plans in place, and knew precisely how to grasp the levers of overt rule firmly and decisively once the destruction of cities, capitols and the accompanying power vacuum suddenly appeared-- the longevity of their long-coveted hegemony was doomed, it turned out, despite their best-laid plans.

We made certain of that.

Now, we rule.

*****

It's not much of a kingdom.  

It been had a culture so globalized, interconnected, planet-wide in its scope and impact, that when it collapsed, it was a planetary collapse.  Fuel and electricity, phone and internet connections, roads and shipping lanes, supply and food lines-- disappeared like mist on a sunny day.  So many things which had characterized our military strength were not merely the weapons themselves-- our communications, our high-speed, highly armored and armed transportation, all of our vaunted technology-- suddenly, these things were gone.  Even a Hummer is limited on crumbling roads-- and without large supplies of fuel enroute, what use is it?  Same goes for aircraft.  Even if you depart from a runway undamaged enough to achieve lift-off, who's to say that the runway at your destination will support a successful landing?  Or that there will be a supply of jet fuel?  Highly unlikely.

And, of course, aside from these things, there is the question of how to rule-- who's there (where?) to rule?  The largest cities have no populations, pulse radioactivity, and anybody living near them likely has radiation sickness if not physical burns (of course, these people, the few of them remaining, are dying off quickly, and not much worth "ruling.") Midsized cities, the thousands of them across the (former) nation, were spared nuclear annihilation-- but all were so dependent upon formerly-existing, fossil-fueled supply lines of food and all other survival necessities, that they descended immediately into advanced stages of alarming anarchy, and were not places to attempt leadership without large supply lines of food to bolster one's claim and shore up support.  Outside of these two, the sparse populations vary in their success, but all live much closer to the land than our former society did.  Again-- the populations are sparse-- but populations are higher in the places surrounding cities, where food is grown, and refugee survivors fleeing the cities have begun to coalesce.  Certainly, some places become overrun with refugees, and some of the escapees bring the urban chaos with them in the form of diseases, desperation and weapons, among other blights.  Where they have come into militia communities, well-armed themselves, skirmishes have thinned-out the populations, and survivors in the end tend to band together in a single, armed semi-fortress encampment, generally lording their quasi-military force over the small farms surrounding.  It is a feudal system, essentially, and it is the most common, growing (if not to say thriving) system to be seen in this desperate new world.

Our great asset is our ability to fight.  Though our advanced communications and our transportation fuels and infrastructure have dissolved, we still have weapons, and plenty of ammunition.  When we leave our mountain cave fortress, we bring just enough of these that they can be easily and successfully transported on the varying crumbling terrain.  This makes for slow progress, and frequent trips back for re-supply-- but little by little, we have expanded our realm.  

Obviously, the best places to conquer first are the ones that are already armed.  This has multiple advantages.  First, no militia force stands any chance against our superior training and equipment.  We rarely lose even a man when we fight.  Second, we gain recruits, frequently eager and trainable ones, at each point.  Finally-- when we invade these places where a crude, militarized feudalism has already taken hold, we invariably also have de facto control of the entire region's population, to grow food, produce or otherwise provide myriad other necessities for our further encroachment into ever-larger territory.  In the decade since it all came down, we have established a territory stretching a few hundred miles in all directions from our base fortress, and our force has expanded into the thousands of men (as well as many women and children).

And yet-- it's not much of a kingdom, compared to the global empire so recently the norm and indefinite expectation.  As a trained, expert fighting force, our interest and expertise is less in leading and manipulating masses of people than it is in conquest and strategy.  This new, smaller world-- as tragic and compromised as it is-- is one well-suited to our skills.  Even without our technology, communication and transportation infrastructures, we are able to leverage our training and fighting ability to great effect in a world such as this.

Our families have been taken from us-- we have little left to live for, little else to ponder.  In its own way, that has made this surreal decade easy-- and has made it Ours.

Part Two:  Confrontation, Crossroads

"Man of Peace-- Man of War-- tell me, who knows more?"

-Jane's Addiction, "Everybody's Friend"

Wallkill 

"We don't know they'll come through here."

"But let's not rely on that theory.  The former Interstate is the clearest route through the region.  If they are coming through, they'll pass our community."

"Well, they'll pass by, then.  Chances are high they won't wander off the Interstate and meander all the way over here.  We're a day's travel from it.  We'll be fine."

"Don't we want to know why they're heading through the region?"

"What if they want to take over all of the areas they pass through?  They would end up finding our community eventually."

"Should we just stay put and hope they pass by, never find us-- or should we do what we can to discern their intentions?"

Silence.  Eventually:

"So what do we do?"

"Well, we can't attack, as if we wanted to."

That last, my father.  His is a leading voice in the community council, which meets weekly.  This is an additional, emergency meeting-- for obvious reason.

My father and mother have allowed me to come along.  (And my younger sister,

Tagan).  I sit, silent, taking in everything, every word.

Community meetings have no minimum age or qualification to attend-- but if kids (including teens) come, they are expected to behave appropriately and remain quietly in their seats except to go to the bathroom.  It is a sort of unofficial rite of passage to be allowed, trusted by one's parents to attend the meeting and behave appropriately-- for if a child or youth disrupts the meeting, their parent(s) must remove themselves and the disruptive child for the remainder of the meeting.

And this is not a meeting my parents intend to get kicked out of.  This is important.

I remain quiet, attentive.  Tagan, much younger, looks restless, but also attentive.  She doesn't intend to be kicked out, and our parents know it or they would not have brought her.

I am not going to miss a minute, either.  Not even to go to the bathroom.

"Soldiers.  But do we know they're military?  Fully-equipped military has almost never been up around here.  Certainly not in any number.  Anyone heard how many we're talking about?  Even approximately?"

"We've only heard vague reports, gossip.  Sounds like real military to me, though.  And sounds like a good number of them."

"That matches what I've been hearing around."

"We need to send scouts south."

"How many?"

"Five or six."

"I'll go."

My dad.  Of course.

"Count me in."

Magellan.  About twenty years old.  Burly.

"Make that three."

Tagan.  

"Isn't she too young?"  Mom, an unusual edge in her voice.  None of us are surprised that she has volunteered, but she is young.  Her brusque courage far transcends mine:  I am years older, and I only imagined coming along, in a theoretical, wouldn't-it-be-great sense.

But Tagan doesn't acknowledge limitations, and our community doesn't impose age-limits on participation in most decisions, activities or responsibilities-- so a personality like hers is a test to the entire orientation of our philosophy of living...  Do we allow her free rein to participate in ANYTHING, even a quest as potentially-dangerous and deeply-important as this one?  

"There is no established rule against it.  Let's leave it to a vote.  We all know Tagan's age, we all know her capabilities.  As well as her tendencies.  Who would like to vote against her participation in this scouting venture?"

Mom's hand raises.  Two others.

"Who votes to allow her along?"

A pause.  Few want to oppose my mother. She has sway, great respect within the community.  

But despite her age, I admire and trust my little sister, and understand why she wants to join the scouting group.  I raise my hand.  Soon after, two others do.

Dad's hand moves slightly.  Mom's eyes lock with his (she won't even look at me).  Much is communicated to all present in the seconds that pass, without words.

His hand goes up.

"That is a majority.  Tagan is in."

"I'll go too."  The words escape my own mouth, though it doesn't feel like me.  

Nobody voices opposition, though my mother still won't look in my direction.  She stares at the floor, hands clenched tightly.  Then her right hand shoots upward.  "I'm in.  That makes five."

"Four of whom are your entire family."

"Didn't escape my attention."  My mom doesn't look at the meeting's moderator, Hank.  She doesn't look at anyone.  She stares straight ahead at a spot on the wall.

Hank speaks again.  "Okay, well we need at least one other volunteer.  I'll be that man."

Tagan has a contented smile touched with mischief and triumph.  She looks up at my mom, whose eyes briefly flit to meet hers.  There is a clear mark of dis gust in her glance-- though also a whisper of pride.  A smile begins at the corner of her mouth, and she abruptly stares straight ahead again.

*****

*****

As we head south, along the main passage which was once a multi-lane Interstate highway, Tagan hums.  I catch moments of recognizable melody, but mostly it is improvised, veering from one to another snatch of phrase.  Moments of it are vaguely interesting, but mostly I find it annoying.

I'm not the only one.

"Stop, Tagan."

"But Dad, I'm not..."

"That wasn't a request."

"You can't force me to--"

"We are still close enough; you can walk back on your own."

"Hmmph."

The sound of footfalls, breathing-- and myriad birds through the tops of trees.

We had left early, the first day.  We live far enough from the remains of what was the Interstate that it took us a full day of travel to approach it.  We camped our first night less than a mile from it, then awoke and resumed at first light.

We stop for lunch eventually, sitting on a fallen tree.  We eat sandwiches with sprouted multi-grain bread, a spread made from sprouted beans and ground sesame seeds, fermented greens and cabbages, and crushed mustard seeds in vinegar; dried autumn berries; crispy snack crackers made from sun-dried flats of flax and rye seeds-- portable foods, easy to make and store.  Only the salt has to be imported, traded-for, used sparingly and with diligent attention to its supply.  Honey is our main sweetener-- thank Goddess that honeybees survived trough the bottleneck and crisis times-- and maple sap can still be harvested even though warming winters have compromised supply some years and may over time lead to die-off of the sugar maples in our region.

Mother speaks:  "I don't know what they are doing coming up through here.  Where could they even be coming from?  We've heard for years about the remnant military forces, but they always seemed far away.  I haven't heard anyone talk of them being anywhere near this region before."

"I haven't either," Father says, "though I'm not entirely surprised they've made it here eventually.  It's been long enough since the Great Calamity that initial radioactive fallout has dissipated, enough that they would want to at least See what remains of The City and its outlying regions...  Heading north from there, along the river, it's either our side of the river or the other side, and they'd have reason, at least eventually, to want to be on our side.  Beyond here, further north, there is what's left of the Erie Canal.  It is fully working again, without need of fuels, I hear.  Those interested in power are going to want to control the main remaining trade corridor between this region and the Great Lakes.  What we need to do is determine their aims and intent regarding the towns and communities along the way, our own among them, and hopefully also succeed in assuring them that we offer no resistance or violent opposition, but hope to be left in peace."

"How many do you think there are?" Tagan asks, a glint of excitement shining in her glance.  "What kind of weapons do you think they have?"

"All I can guess about them, from what I've heard over the years, is that they are based to the south and east generally," said Father-- which didn't address either of her questions.  "The former industrial cities of Pennsylvania and Ohio, as well as Wisconsin and Michigan, were spared nuclear attack.  I have even heard that Chicago remains mostly intact, except for tactical nukes used on coal plants and other essential infrastructure in and surrounding the city, and my guess in attempting to understand that, when other cities its size and influence are no more, is that whatever decision-makers chose targets didn't want to despoil any of the Great Lakes permanently with radiation.  Almost all of the very largest cities are ocean-port cities or at important river junctures-- rivers flow, and oceans are so large that dilution does occur, though they have been incredibly if not entirely despoiled for thousands of years to come.  The Great Lakes, though, do not drain and replenish as rapidly as rivers, and though huge, are nothing compared to oceans in terms of dilution-capacity.  Someone, somewhere, morbidly, was considering some sort of deeply-compromised future.  Detroit was already hobbled enough to pose no strategic threat, and frankly, despite its size and prominence, Chicago suffered a lot economically and otherwise through the final years of the former world.  Whoever made the decisions merely destroyed power-generation capacities, there and in much of the Midwest.  If what I've heard is correct, only Denver was hit with full-power nuclear strikes between the northeast and the west coast, and out there, from what I understand, only San Francisco/ Jose, Los Angeles and Seattle were hit with strategic rather than small tactical nukes."

"Dad.  That's really interesting, but what Tagan asked is--"

"Yes, I remember, and I'm about to circle back around to the answer, which of course I don't actually know with any certainty."  He pauses, staring into his hands.  "Since most roads have become damaged by neglect to the point of being impassable in the last decade-plus-- impassable by fueled vehicles, that is-- I'm going to assume they aren't bringing such vehicles, or larger weapons which require such vehicles to transport.  The Interstate is much wider than the country roads we more often use, so it's generally kept maintained to whatever degree merchants passing-through can manage-- this means that, except for more recent tree-falls and similar, they will be able to make fairly good time and bring a fairly sizable contingent, likely including carts to carry supplies, food, munitions...  My best guess is, we'll be seeing a full company, from just under 100 up to maybe 150 soldiers.  If it's a battalion-- 300, up to 800 or more soldiers-- then there is much to fear.  That would mean that they have permanent intentions up here; it would also mean that the military as a whole is large, given circumstances.  My best guess is the number will be toward the low end of the above."

"Wow!  You mean up to 100 soldiers-- or more!"

"Yes, Tagan, that would be my guess.  And to answer your second question, I am guessing they will have guns and as much ammunition as they can carry without transport slowing and it weighing them down.  Guns with capacity, surely automatic, not too heavy because each soldier will likely be carrying their own.  That's all they'd need against any threats they might face."

"If you can already guess all of this about them, why do we need to scout ahead to see?" Mother asks.  "Do we need to actually meet them, face-to-face?  Or can we just let them pass, count and examine from the safety of the forest at the edge of the Interstate?"

I don't think Mother would be as nervous if Tagan and I weren't here-- camouflage and deflection are our preferred way of dealing with unknown, unwelcomed outsiders generally, but in a case such as this, information is needed, communication is necessary.  She knows this, and would not shy-away out of fear, normally-- but fear for her two only children...  I can understand.  And it would be great to merely hide in the woods, let the company or battalion pass, count and examine their number and weaponry-- but that is not what we have come down to do.

And Mother knows this.

"You know what we've volunteered for," Father says, looking into Mother's eyes.  "I know why you've come along, but that does not change our purpose."

"I know."

They embrace for a long minute.  Mother releases a few very slight sobs.  Father holds her closer.

Tagan and Magellan look at each other, both restless, excited.

"I look forward to this," Magellan says, speaking for the second time since yesterday.  He stares down the fractured, cluttered Interstate remnant, eyes glittering with anticipation.  Tagan watches him.  She is clearly excited as well, but also appears somewhat more wary than Magellan.  

*****

*****

Two days later.

We have passed what is left of Saugerties, at least what used to be its off-ramp exit from the Interstate.  There is very little evidence of human activity, though we know several of those who live at the base of the mountains in the region, in what was once a pass-through barely-there town called Palenville.  We have met some, as well, who live in what they still call Woodstock, though my impression is they are strange types, superstitious and a bit wild-eyed in their way of being.

Normally, we are not trying to pass by when we enter this area, so we don't use the Interstate and we don't merely bypass it as we did yesterday.  Looking at what is left of the part of Saugerties directly flanking the Interstate, it appears all-but entirely abandoned.  A multi-story hulk of building directly to the right of us as we passed, probably previously a hotel, was choked with vines and even tree branches jutting-out of windows.  On the left, the familiar remnant of what had once been a gas station.  Everyone knows not to expend effort trying to dismantle one of those for planting purposes, so toxic and foul.  It is also covered in vines, but its shape is familiar enough.  Next door to it, a building with a tall tower out in front, formerly a sign-- the double-hump shape of the vines covering it convey clearly that what were once called "the golden arches" lie beneath.

A funny thing about Saugerties:  my parents tell me that, when they were young, a comedian who was born and raised in this town "made it big," having been on the once-very-popular television program (back when there was television) Saturday Night Live, then began helming the nightly late-night show called The Tonight Show.  Jimmy Fallin, I think was his name.  I have no memory of that show, or him.  But it's cool that he was raised so nearby.  I wonder if he's still alive.  He wouldn't be all that old, but so many people who had been based in The City are no longer.

Pretty sad.

Very sad.

Sad especially because, though I have no personal memory of Jimmy Fallin, from what my parents tell me he was an energetic, positive, seemingly very good person they could relate to and felt a great, almost personal affinity for, even though of course they hadn't met him.  My dad says he was just a kid when Jimmy Fallin started on The Tonight Show, and the only reason he even ever saw him was because segments from the show could be watched on the Internet any time of day.  Jimmy danced, sang, played and "pretended" to sing popular songs (Dad calls it lip-sinking, which I don't understand and the name doesn't make sense); he told jokes and imitated famous people, which many found funny; he had guests on the show who were beloved for being funny, interesting people:  the large majority of all these people had lived in New York City or Los Angeles-- therefore, most had likely perished in the thick of the Great Insanity.

We had passed the Saugerties exit yesterday morning, not long after waking, repast and morning rituals:  Mom and Dad had done some stretching poses and sat in silence for several minutes; Tagan had disappeared to relieve herself and returned to focus attention on whittling a tiny wooden character which she left behind for somebody to find; Magellan had climbed high into a tree and peered as far as he could see in the direction we were heading, only coming down when he saw that we were preparing to leave; I had wanted to return to my dreaming, but settled for preparing a second bowl of rose hips tea after finishing a thick slice of bread spread with honey, staring into the morning's mini-fire prepared from the embers of the previous night's larger one.  When we are home, we refrain from building nighttime fires, certainly keeping them small if ever-- on the road, though, strangers abound, and it is better to make oneself known so that passersby, certainly still infrequent but far more likely than at home, will not be startled.  I enjoyed staring into the previous night's fire, and stared again into the morning's smaller one, until I could see that people were getting ready to move on.

After passing the Saugerties exit, we continued mile after mile without  passing another exit, and without event.  There were times when I was fully aware that we were being watched by humans from communities established along the former Interstate-- or at least by members of nearby communities, set there as sentries.  I never saw the people themselves, but I knew when it was a human presence, and I knew approximately how far into the dense thicket of forest just off the former Interstate the human presence was.  Twice yesterday I had felt this presence, though in neither case malicious or threatening, nor fearful.  I understood, and felt kinship with these unseen strangers.  None of us spoke about these unseen watchers, but I am sure all could sense what I did.  I am also sure the communities they represented had heard about the approach of the soldiers, and understood our purpose in passing through.

I wonder how many others are sending scout missions like ours?

This morning we awoke just a hike shy of the Kingston exit from the Interstate.  Long ago, Kingston had been the capital of what was New York State, and though the "upstate" area lost much of its human population in the pre-collapse decades, Kingston remained a fairly populous if not quite thriving medium-sized city.  Ten miles from the Kingston exit was the hamlet-turned-tourist-trap of Woodstock, hippie-era mecca, now a fragment of its former population, but still filled with musicians and druggie burnouts, eager to relive stories and evoke a lost time, yet fairly poor at the fundamentals of self-sufficiency.  It's amazing how many of them persist, though they tend to be odd birds, and many are well-beyond seventy years of age, precarious without systemized health care or nursing home facilities.

We pass the exit, following the long gradual rightward curve of the Interstate as it skirts the valley in the shadow of the Catskills, then eventually veering left and heading up into the first of a series of slow rises and valleys the Interstate goes through in passing New Paltz, eventually descending into Newburgh thirty or more miles later.  I've never had need to travel even as far as Kingston before, but I've heard description of this long stretch leading to Newburgh, where still stands the Beacon-Newburgh Bridge spanning the expansive Hudson, where there had been an Air Force base and small airport in previous times.

I wonder, will we travel that far before reaching the soldiers, however many there are?  A big part of me doubts it.

"Where do you think they are?"  Magellan asks my father, even more restless, eager than before, though I wouldn't have thought it possible.

"I would be surprised if we pass New Paltz without reaching them."

Mother speaks:  "There was mention in the rumors about their approach, of the unit having stopped for a time at a former military base.  That might be the former Air Force facility in Newburgh." 

"I think it's more likely West Point," Father says.  "Even though it was more of a military training school than a base, it was a large facility, and is well-known."

"I agree," says Mother.  "I was about to say the same." 

"West Point is on the banks of the Hudson," Magellan says, a bolt of panic flashing across his expression.  "Might they have headed north along the river, rather than traveling on the Interstate?  Might we miss them altogether?"

"You are eager, Magellan.  What do you think we will accomplish when we do find ourselves face-to-face with this armed contingent?"

"Well sir--"

"You can call me Jerry, you know that."

"Well,... I just want...  I came along because,  I want to see..."

"I know why you came, Magellan.  Just be cautious with your excitement.  We will not be facing friends-- but they are also not an enemy.  We have no reason or capacity to confront them with any sort of threat, or engage in any altercation whatsoever."

"I know.  I know."

"I know you know, intellectually you know-- but your body language bespeaks another message, Magellan.  Proceed with caution, young man.  I'm not here to let my family be killed, and any sudden move by you-- or you, Tagan-- could lead in any number of dangerous directions."

"I got it."

Father looks into Magellan's eyes.  The gaze is returned for a time, but eventually Magellan gives in.  Father continues searching his face.  Eventually:

"Okay.  I believe you.  I believe your intention, anyway.  Watch your impulses."

"Okay.  I will."

Tagan says, "Magellan asked about whether the military unit might have-- might not be coming up this way, but along the river...?"

"Doubtful.  Wherever they might stop, whatever else they do, if they're passing through our area, the fastest, widest route is along the Interstate.  The old river-hugging highway, it would be close to impassable in parts, especially for a large contingent, certainly if they have carts or any sort of wheeled conveyance.  And I'd bet that they do-- especially after stopping at a place likely to have stores of ammo, and possibly weapons to add to their own."

"West Point is just a bit south of Newburgh," Mother says.  "Whether they started this way from there or from the old Air Force base, they'd be past Newburgh by now-- and I'm guessing they've arrived at or bypassed New Paltz already, too.  They will of necessity be moving slower than we are, stopping to clear fallen trees we can merely climb over or get around."

"Not to mention, they probably convert tree fall into firewood-- yet another reason they'd be moving slowly as a whole."

"True.  And that's another reason they are sure to have carts of some sort, likely with horses."

I need to speak:  "So we might see them today?  What do we do when we see them?  What do we say?"

*****

*****

Consolidate resources, control routes of commerce.  Patience.  One footstep behind the other, we move forward.  Speed no longer matters.

Only engage those who confront us directly.  Only destroy those who meet us with deadly force.  Otherwise—forward, ahead, onward.  

Patience.

The Hudson, the Great Lakes, the still-existing, still useful Erie Canal.

Control those, control the entire expanse between.

What the world needs now is a General, who knows tactics, knows structures, knows mass-psychology.

I volunteer for the position.

*****

*****

“I hear them.”

No mistaking it.  Totally unlike all sounds we've encountered on this journey.  Squeaking cart wheels, thousands of footsteps, muttered words and occasional yelps, shouted cadences.  

A formation.  Within audible distance.  Around the next curve, stand of trees, atop or beyond the long slope we are rising.

Near.

*****

*****

We descend the other side of the slope, the gentle decline which leads into the Wallkill River valley and to the once-Dutch/ Quaker village of New Paltz.  From our vantage, we can see the river—and the massive military presence just beyond and around the river.

They have set-up an encampment at the place where the Walllkill passes underneath the Interstate, just a handful of miles north of the New Paltz/ Poughkeepsie exit of the Interstate.  Likely, they have been there a day or three, and it appears from afar that they are packing up, preparing to mobilize again, soon to resume their march precisely in our direction.

I have to defecate.

*****

As we get nearer to the river intersection, the group coalesces into a phalanx, a corridor materializing down the center of the rectangular formation in a receding wave-like motion.

As our loose formation of five comes within a stone’s throw of the throng, the wave reaches the front of the formation, and a man can be seen treading through the path unfolding at its center.

The man exits the front of the formation, directly face-to-face with my father.

“Hello.”

He has a hand out, a leisurely smile.

My father meets the man’s grip.

“My name is Richard.  I represent a community which identifies as Haven, north of here.”

“Hello.  I am General Demian Swift.  What is your interest?”

“We have heard of your approach.  We wish to know your intentions within this region.  Long-term?  Passing through?   I am aware of the trading value of the Erie Canal.  We will not oppose you in reaching it, using it—we mean no harm or threat, and wish to know your intentions as pertains to this region.”

The General studies my father.  His eyes move to my mother, to Magellan, then me, then Tagan.  His smile broadens.

“Yes, yes.  You pose no threat.  Where north is your community?”

“I won't relinquish that information at this time—but tell me, do you hope to settle or control the Catskills region?  Passage, a corridor here along the Interstate or the Hudson River, these things are sensible and needn't disturb our communities as they stand and hope to continue, unmolested.”

The General laughs.  “You don't flinch in your description,-- Richard?”

“Yes, that is my name.”

“Yes, all right.  Reasonable queries.”  His eyes sparkle with amusement.  “Very few have simply walked up to us directly, spoken with me personally.”

“I would like, our community will need this information.  You are the person to ask, it seems.”

A short, clipped, amused laugh, subdued as quickly as it forms.  “Yes, I suppose I am.”

He looks down at the ground just beyond the tips of his boots.  He clears his throat, looks directly at my father.

“All right, then.  I shall remain interested, as you suggest, in the corridor, the Interstate and, moreso, the Hudson River.  A river such as this where we stand will be of interest.  I am willing to state, at this point, that we have no plans to settle deeper into the Catskill Mountains themselves.  And I will make a point to avoid causing strife within or surrounding any community calling itself Haven.”  He smiles broadly, again.  “You are not afraid.”

“I am afraid.  I am even more committed.”  Father looks into the General’s eyes.  “I will consider this an agreement.  We need not sign anything.  We shake hands.”

The men’s hands meet, eyes locked, firm movements, then relaxation as their hands loosen and a simple handshake replaces the rigid formality of their initial movements.  A warmness enters their met gaze, a familiarity, mutual recognition.

“You must walk with us, now.  Your whole party.  You may camp with us or nearby, but for now, we are moving forward along this corridor, back the way you came.  We must walk, and talk.”

“Yes.”

Their handshake ends, their arms drop limply, gaze finally disconnecting. Father turns, and we all begin walking up the grade of the Interstate, back up the slope we just descended.

I am amazed.  Magellan appears dazed, confronted.  This isn't anything like what he had imagined.  Tagan smiles sheepishly up at Father occasionally, winks at me when our eyes meet for a moment.  

The General does not speak; troops follow close behind, looming and massive in number and scope, their footfalls simultaneous and regimented, but not threatening, and not loud considering their sheer number.

Fallen trees, especially those fallen onto or near the Interstate, are swiftly sawed into logs small enough to be stacked onto growing piles on one of several firewood carts.  There are teams of soldiers equipped with large-tooth saws, which quickly pass through even the thickest trunks; it takes only 10-15 minutes for each team to transform a medium-sized tree into logs, and be moving again.  We take short breaks at each of these stops.  The General appears patient, unhurried, purposeful without anxiety or urgency.

Other than these tree-sawing breaks, we move forward, inexorably progressing up and down the slopes of the Interstate.  We are moving slower than we were with our small group, and we haven’'t reached Kingston as dusk falls, so we need to stop and camp.

*****

*****

I find myself opposite a young soldier, hours later, by one of many still-burning campfires.  He is maybe three years older than me, tells me he grew up in Indiana, found his way to this troop through his military training and background, looks forward to a career in the government they plan to erect, enacting leadership from the northeast New England region across to the northern Midwest.  His eyes shine with ambition and a kind of happiness.

I am impressed.  Strangely, I am not afraid.  There is a friendliness, unassuming and personable, to the young soldier.  I feel no threat in the presence of this regiment.  

I find my way through the sleeping throng to the place my family is sleeping among them.  Nobody appears worried at my absence.

*****

*****

Two days later, morning.  We are still a mile shy of Saugerties.

“We will leave the Interstate at Saugerties,” my father informs the General.  “Part ways.”

“I'd like something in return.  A good-faith gesture.”

“What is it?”

"Him."

The General is looking at Magellan.  Magellan is excited, eager.

“He appears to have an interest in being a part.  But I have a condition.”

"Yes?"

“He can return to our community at his will, as long as feasible.  He remains a lifelong resident, member of our community.  But he will go with you, now.  I can see he is willing to agree.”

“I agree to your terms.”

They shake hands, the same ritual as previously, rigid formality leading-into a relaxed, warm shaking of hands, eyes connected, slight smiles.

*****

*****

“What happened?”

“That was so easy!”

“Father, how did you…?”

“I didn't DO anything.”

“What about Magellan?”

“He is at a time in his life.  He seeks an adventure.  I assured him the ability and capacity to return to us at any time, at his will.  He will have experiences.  He will learn, and learn who he is.”

“But that's an Army!  A large one.”

"Yes.” 

“And we’re nonviolent.”

“Magellan will have to determine for himself where he actually stands in that regard.”

“That was too easy!!”

“I know.  It was.  It will only be the first of our interactions with them.  But it was a good introduction.  And I feel secure in where things stand.  Watchful, but—hopeful.”

We are walking down what remains of a back road leading toward the Catskills.  Father knows this way well—I could make my way, but I have only traversed this far a few times.

Trees overhang the road closely on both sides, root systems cracking through edges of the road, cracks everywhere with abundant dandelions, chicory and buttercups growing alongside grasses choking every crack with green.  The army’s carts could not traverse this passage, but we pass easily, continuing our discussion and disbelief.

“What about Magellan’s parents?”

“He was of an age to make this decision.  We didn't have much choice in any case. And he chose to go along with them.”

"I was ready to—I don't know what.  I don't know what I thought it was going to be like, but I thought I was ready.  But I didn't expect That!”

“I know, Tagan.  I understand.  I didn't know how it would go.  But with you and your brother here, I was not planning to allow things to become violent.  I know what I would have done if they had, but I wasn't going to resort to that.”

"You were so—calm!”

“On the outside, maybe.”

“Hey, I know a place near here where we could swim.”

“I could use a swim!”

“Yes.”

“Just at the end of this corridor, through the woods at the left…”

“That's right—yes!”

*****

The belly-thrill in the moments after launch, leaping from the stone ledge into the river’s depth.  The moments in the air, wind passing, several feet dropped—splash!

Nothing better to snap you into the very present, sensation, life, vitality, independent of particulars and problems.

And worries.

Life is joy.

How to keep it this way?  So much harm has already occurred, how can we face a large deadly force and not fear?  

My parents were adults during the Shift, they know what was  before and what is (and isn't) now, they witnessed the deaths, the cataclysm.  They are far from naïve in any sense.

So, what have we accomplished?  What, besides a surface-civil conversation, occurred?  What can we trust about any verbal agreement just made?