Chapter 6

“We need supplies,” said Dan Newman, his voice filled with apprehension. “We need raw materials. A lot of what we have is old or broken.” Dan was a heavyset, bearded man in his forties, with a vaguely crude yet thoughtful air, wild yet intelligent, giving off a distinct mountain man vibe.

His cohort, Terry East, listened intently to Dan’s words, for he was acutely aware of the situation. The two of them were seated in front of a campfire, discussing the issues facing their group, in a remote valley somewhere near the border of what used to be the states of Virginia and West Virginia.

After a few moments of silence, Terry elected to speak. “You ain’t shittin’,” he uttered. “Got any ideas?”

“I’ve been thinking,” Dan continued. “We’ve taken just about everything there is to be taken from this area. We need to look harder in other places.”

“You mean move away from here?” said Terry, somewhat alarmed. “But this place is our fuckin’ home! Nobody bothers us here!”

“No, no, let me continue,” said Dan, a bit testily. “I’m not talking about moving out of the area. Get that shit out of your mind. What we need to do is start thinking about a major operation to bring some supplies back home. Something bigger than the little raids we’ve been doing. Even if we have to put our Washington plans on hold for a while.”

With that remark, Terry knew that Dan was dead serious. Everyone knew how important the Washington plan was to Dan. It was his baby, his number one aspiration, his ultimate goal.

Like the Patriots in Philadelphia, Dan wanted to resuscitate the United States of America. But he envisioned more than that. He wanted to be President. He wanted to occupy the White House, to sit in the Oval Office, to wield the power and influence inherent in the presidency, to communicate with other great world leaders (even though a part of him was fully aware that there were no actual world leaders anymore). He foresaw the name “Dan Newman” written in the history books alongside Lincoln and Roosevelt and Eisenhower and Kennedy. And he would be the one who brought the US back from the dead.

Dan didn’t worry about elections or anything like that, for he knew full well that these were different times. He would just walk into the White House and take control – if those idiots from Philadelphia would only get the message and back off. He was fit to be President – he just knew it. He was the unofficial but de facto leader of a loosely organized group of people, roughly five hundred in number. Although Dan was unaware of this, factions to the east and south referred to his people as the Huns. Most of these Huns were unrefined and uneducated – largely coming from the dregs of society in the years before the crisis. Many were former prisoners. He did have a small but capable and resourceful group of leaders under him – Terry was one of them – and many of the common people viewed Dan as almost a deity. He was the undeniable possessor of a certain type of personal magnetism, a common-man charisma that held particular appeal to the rather crude nature of most his minions. All of this, in Dan’s mind, instantly qualified him for the highest office in the land.

But to get to that point, Dan and his clan had to muddle through the present, which meant basic survival. They had enough to eat and drink; they were well accustomed to living off the land. They had skilled hunters, access to fertile land for growing food, and plenty of clean water. However, much of their farming machinery was growing old and required replacement parts. Their fleet of six airplanes – kept in a hangar at a remote, unused airfield, which none of their adversaries even knew were in their possession – were also in critical need of parts. On top of that, much of their weapon stock was nearing the end of its useful life. They’d survived so far by stealing and pilfering from communities in reasonable proximity. This type of activity only goes so far, and it was yielding diminishing returns.

In the months leading up to the Second Incident, Dan had briefly served in the US Army. He was familiar with military tactics and strategy, though he was perhaps not as knowledgeable in those areas as he thought. Nonetheless, the strategy he’d adopted – quick stinging attacks of brutal ferocity, followed by a quick withdrawal – had been sufficient to keep the Patriots from fully occupying Washington, and on a smaller scale, to meet the community’s scavenging needs up to this point.

Another issue Dan was grappling with was the emergence of factions within his own group of people. With his charisma and leadership abilities, and the help of a group of loyal subordinates, he had managed to keep the entire population under his thumb, focused on their community goals, for more than three years. Recently, however, he had been reminded of the truth behind the old cliche – uneasy rests the head that wears the crown. A few weeks ago, a group of five rebels charged his living quarters, consisting of three very large fortified and weatherproof tents, and attempted to murder him. Thankfully, a few of his loyalists had arrived on the scene quickly and helped him to dispatch the infidels to the promised land. It had been a close call, though, and Dan was decidedly on edge these days. It drove home the fact that many pieces in his own gun collection were nearing the end of their lives, and ammunition was in short supply throughout the community.

Dan had come up with the beginnings of a plan to remedy these issues, and he decided to bounce them off of Terry, who was one of his most trusted assistants. “One of the bitches we brought in from Washington had quite a story to tell. She was from a fringe community owned by those Philadelphia assholes – she said it was some fucking research facility that used to be an air force base. Anyway ... um, what the hell is that?” A grunting noise could be heard as a filthy creature approached them. Dan instinctively reached for his gun.

“You don’t have to shoot him,” cautioned Terry. “Don’t worry – that’s just Unk.”

“What the fuck is an Unk?”

“Not an Unk. He’s just Unk,” corrected Terry. “No one knows what his name is, or even if he has one, so we just started calling him Unk. He just wandered in one day – no one knows where he came from. Kind of like a caveman – he’s real stupid and uncivilized, can’t talk, just grunts. Seems like he was abandoned as a child and somehow survived in the wild all these years. Yeah, he stinks to high heaven. He doesn’t like baths at all. But he takes orders well and he’s super strong. We’ve trained him to help out, and in return we keep him fed. When he’s not working for us, he just kind of wanders around.”

“Christ,” uttered Dan, rolling his eyes. “Try to keep me filled in about things like this, you hear? Anyway, as I was saying, this bitch from Philadelphia lived in this community near Dover – what used to be Dover. I know that place well – before all this shit went down, I had a buddy who used to work there. The Philly bitch said that they have a nice little operation there in Dover – the people up in Philly don’t bug them too much, and they’ve got warehouses upon warehouses of useful shit. They’ve also got airplanes and lots of working cars.”

“Never heard of any people in that area,” Terry remarked. “I thought it was all waste land.”

“Apparently not,” said Dan. “I was thinking ... Christ, what is he doing now?” The feral human known as “Unk” was now squatting and grunting heavily about ten meters away from where they were sitting.

“He’s taking a dump,” Terry explained. “Like I said, he’s not real civilized.”

“Dammit,” Dan groused, thoroughly grossed out, but wanting to finish his story. “Anyway, she told me that they turn all the lights off in the community at a certain time each night. Maybe we can take advantage of that. Send a big force over there and hit them at night. We can cross the Chesapeake on the bridge. We can also fly a couple of the planes over – a lot of people can fit on the old military plane. We raid the place, drive off with a few cars, maybe take a plane or two.”

“Do you think we could pull off something like that?” Terry inquired; his tone was skeptical. “That’s a long way to travel on foot.”

“It won’t be easy, for sure,” allowed Dan. “I’ll have to give it some thought. But we need to do something! Maybe we can grab some of their women while we’re there. We have a woman shortage in this place.”

Generally, women did not thrive in the Hun community. Many ended up fleeing on their own, usually in groups. Some experienced abuse (and worse) at the hands of the Hun males. Despite the four-to-one ratio of women to men in the world at large, women were actually a slight minority among the Huns, due to extensive defections. Dan had learned that there was a large and prosperous community to the northwest, across the Ohio River, who willingly took them in. Others joined the Philadelphia community. The women who were moderately well-adjusted in Hun society were invariably passive and compliant, not to mention willing to share their physical favors with several men.

Dan knew that one woman who was well-adjusted was his Elizabeth. He was sure that one day, she would make a great First Lady. She was more than willing to remain stashed away in his little complex of tents, just as she would be in the White House. She kept the complex clean, kept him well-fed, and tolerated his frequent dalliances with other women. She had also provided him with two sons who, he was sure, would be quite proud of their father when he realized his destiny as President of the United States. Elizabeth had also given birth to a daughter whom Dan refused to recognize.

Unk, meanwhile, was still in the vicinity, having cast his pants aside. He was now wearing only a filthy shirt. Dan looked at Unk with extreme irritation and then shot a displeased look at Terry.

“He doesn’t like to wear clothes,” said Terry apologetically. “He takes them off whenever he gets a chance. It really upsets some of the women.”

“Can you make him go away?” snarled Dan. “I don’t need to sniff his shit, and I sure as hell don’t need to watch his dick flapping around.”

“Unk!” called out Terry. Pointing into the woods, he shouted, “Home!” Dutifully, Unk shuffled off into the trees, leaving Dan and Terry to finish up their little conference.

“It’s settled,” declared Dan, rubbing his hands together. “I’m gonna figure out a way to hit that community in Dover. It sounds like they have plenty of what we need.”

Essence and Maeve lay naked together on Maeve’s bed, having wrapped up yet another torrid lovemaking session. This was becoming a daily occurrence in the early evenings: Essence would arrive at Maeve’s place, and with few words passing between them, they would head for the bedroom. After their passions had been sated, and only then, Essence would pour her heart out to Maeve about Abby. On this particular evening, Essence’s level of horniness had been off the charts; they’d spent a couple of hours indulging in all the pleasures of the flesh they could summon. Finally, as they lay spent together on the bed, their bodies covered with sweat, Essence gave voice to what was on her mind.

“She’s going out with Laird tonight. She agreed to meet him at the pub, and she’s probably on her way over there now.

Maeve shifted positions, her flesh rubbing against Essence’s in a manner that conveyed safety and security rather than the re-ignition of spent passion. Her silence invited Essence to go on.

“I had a long talk with her last night. Once again, I warned her about Laird, just in case she’d forgotten about the last twenty – or who knows how many – times I’ve brought it up.”

“How did she take that?”

“All in all, very well I’d say. But it didn’t dissuade her. She told me that she believes that underneath that exterior of his lies a decent guy who is just misunderstood by the rest of us.” Essence let out a big sigh. “I sure hope she’s right. Or I hope she’s not right. Or ... I just don’t know what to think right now. More than anything else, I don’t want her to get hurt.”

“You don’t have to be so noble, you know. You have your own needs. I was just the beneficiary of some of them.” Maeve laughed, and Essence managed a giggle as well.

“Think about Essence once in a while,” Maeve gently prodded. “You’re allowed to say, ‘I want Laird to go away, so I can ravish her body myself.’” At that, Essence managed a much heartier laugh. Maeve reached out and touched her tongue to Essence’s nipple, and as she ran the tip of her middle finger the whole length of Essence’s slit, her laugh segued into a purr of pleasure.

It was after dark on a pleasant Friday evening, with the heat of the July daytime having been driven away, leaving behind a mid-summer night that was warm and dry. It was a long walk for Abby, from the house she shared with Essence in the southwestern part of the enclave, to the pub near the center. She felt a little bit uneasy, walking alone after dark, but soon realized that it was nowhere near as dangerous as it would have been in her own time. This was a friendly, isolated community, and crime was rare. And at any rate, the path was well illuminated.

The talk with Essence the prior evening was still on her mind, as was the earlier discussion with Hannah about birth control, or the lack thereof. She, too, had reservations about Laird, but Abby was an adventurous sort who believed in the old adage, “nothing ventured, nothing gained”. Her interactions with Laird had continued to be fraught with his fierce stubbornness on those subjects that were near and dear to his heart, along with intense disagreement and even the occasional flash of anger on Abby’s part. But during his less confrontational moments, he’d managed to push all the right buttons. For as well as she’d gotten to know him, he remained an enigma, and this somehow made him more attractive to her. Flattered by the non-stop attention on his part, she had finally consented to the date.

Now, here she was at the pub. Abby stepped inside, curious as to what she might find. There was a large room with a number of folding tables, along with folding chairs, However, Abby was surprised to find that in every other way, the establishment had been created with the intent of mimicking an actual pre-crisis night spot. For one thing, there was the typical dim lighting. Futuristic music was playing in the background. There were even a few tacky neon signs in evidence, obviously having been scavenged from somewhere. An actual bar had been constructed, with a bartender standing behind it. Abby suspected that somehow, Noah had been involved in building that bar.

Just then, she spotted Laird walking through the door. He walked over to greet her. “You’re looking particularly lovely tonight,” he told her.

Abby demurred with a smile. “Thank you for the compliment, but this is what I wear pretty much every day, a T-shirt and old jeans. There isn’t much fashion to speak of in this time period.” Indeed, with the exception of Patriot business meetings, dressing to the nines was unheard of in the Fragger community.

“You’re looking lovely,” he replied, “because you finally said yes to me asking you out, and I consider it an honor to be in your company.”

There he goes again, Abby thought, as she felt her cheeks begin to redden.

Laird led her over to the bar, where the bartender greeted them. He was a friendly, gregarious sort; he introduced himself as Dorian. Realizing that Abby was a newcomer, he told her, “We only have beer tonight. Sometimes, we’ll get a shipment of wine or other libations, but tonight you’re out of luck in that regard. But we serve some of the best homemade beer you’ve ever tasted. We brew it right here. If you like, I can even show you the machine.”

“I’d like to see it,” Abby said with curiosity. Dorian led the two of them to the rear of the establishment. In the back was a surprisingly small contraption, the likes of which Abby had never seen. “You get beer from that?” Abby said in wonderment.

“We sure do,” said Dorian with a smile. He opened up a nearby refrigerator and removed a large glass container filled with a familiar golden-colored frothy liquid. He filled two glasses to the rim, as Laird grabbed them both. They walked together over to a table and sat down companionably.

Abby took a taste. The beer was as excellent as advertised, but rather strong; Abby knew she had to be careful with her consumption. “You know what one of the strangest things about my situation is?” she began.

Laird, sipping his beer, gave her a curious look.

“This world has been in a post-apocalyptic state for twenty years. However, before that, there were almost forty years’ worth of technological advances over and above what I know from the year 2023. Everything is a strange mixture of primitive and futuristic. That beer-making machine just reminded me of that. The time machine is another good example.”

A certain look came across Laird’s face upon hearing mention of the time machine, so Abby moved to quickly change the subject. “I haven’t decided whether or not I like this music,” she declared. “It’s like nothing I’ve ever heard before.”

This brought about a lengthy discussion of the music from Abby’s day, even going back fifty or sixty years prior. Abby, who like Laird was somewhat of an old soul, loved music from the seventies and eighties. She was astonished to learn that Laird was a bit of a buff on music from that time period as well. Abby, nursing her beer, had only consumed about half of it, but was already feeling mild effects. This beer is way strong, she cautioned herself. She took note of the fact that Laird was already finishing his second beer.

Abruptly, Laird changed the discussion topic. “I-I’ve never told you about my wife - Jimmy’s mother,” he said, suddenly appearing near tears.

Abby nodded in agreement. This was one topic that Laird had indeed never addressed, but one that Abby had always been curious about. She had figured that he’d talk about it when the time was right. And with Laird’s current state of mild intoxication, that time appeared to be now.

“We were very young,” Laird began. “I was twenty, and Marissa was nineteen, when we found out she was pregnant. We got married right away. Marissa was beautiful, sweet, caring, everything I wanted in a woman. And then that goddamn Third Incident happened, and she was taken away. Just like that. Jimmy was only two months old. He never knew his mother.”