Finding Shelter Page 2

  And it would have been almost impossible for Sadie to not understand the reality of the situation. After all, she'd been through it all with everyone else. She'd been shot at and almost killed. She'd shot and killed people herself. She'd killed adults who, before the EMP, might have been politicians, teachers, policemen, stockbrokers, insurance salesmen, or anything at all.

  People had gone crazy. That was Sadie's takeaway from the whole situation.

  Unlike the adults, she knew that she was going to grow up and become an adult in this world of chaos and violence. She had a different perspective than the adults did. And, unlike them, she would soon gradually forget the peaceful pre-EMP world of her childhood. The new reality would, for her, become the only reality. Everything else would be just a distant memory.

  Sadie still vividly remembered when the hordes of the insane, crazed, desperate people had invaded. She could still see their faces and hear their screams. In contrast, the memory of sitting in the cold, boring classrooms before the EMP were fading rapidly.

  The previous few months had been relatively calm. Those strangers who had stumbled upon the camp had been friendly, or at least not violent and dangerous. They'd exchanged news with the adults, traded the odd supply here and there, and continued on their way.

  Food wasn't much of an issue, and everyone was eating pretty well. Plenty of calories. Plenty of protein.

  There was plenty of venison. Her mother was responsible for providing most of it.

  And there were a lot of canned and packaged foods. Taken, mostly, from the surrounding areas on the expeditions that the adults would take.

  Max had explained how, in terms of food and pre-EMP world supplies, they were right now in something of a "sweet spot." What he meant was that while there were a limited number of pre-EMP products left in the world, at this point so many people had died off that there were a limited number of "consumers" left. Of course, eventually, all the products that had been found would be consumed, and there'd be nothing left. But for the moment, it wasn't that hard to take a short expedition to some nearby out-of-the-way store that hadn't been hit by the mobs and find some supplies.

  There were fewer people out than before, which made such trips possible. But, of course, many of the people left were exceedingly vicious, not to mention dangerous.

  A big issue with the food was that they were still relying heavily on packaged foods from the pre-EMP world. And those products would never again be produced. Max had wanted to get farm animals. He'd wanted them to have their own continuous supply of milk, eggs, and eventually meat. But they hadn't yet gotten that far. The few expeditions they'd taken to farms had turned out nothing but dead farm animals. The people who'd cared for and fed the animals had long since died, leaving the animals to either starve or escape. Most of them had starved.

  They couldn't rely on venison as their only food. Something might happen to the deer. Someone else might hunt the populations down. Or who knew what else. They'd come to expect the unexpected. Which was why Max wanted their own reliable food supply.

  Not to mention the fact that it was dangerous for Sadie's mother to keep heading out on her own on her hunting trips. Sometimes she took others with her, but in general they were needed back at camp for some project or another, like helping build a shelter, construct a fence, or to work on the drinking water systems or toilets.

  Everyone knew that however "peaceful" the current times seemed; it was still exceedingly dangerous to venture away from the camp.

  Sadie herself was under strict orders never to leave alone. In fact, she hadn't gotten to leave at all since they'd gotten there.

  From where she was sitting, she glanced again at James and Dan. They had a map out in front of them now and they were peering at it intensely. On more than a couple occasions, they'd both been allowed to leave together. They'd hadn't gone very far, but they'd gotten to do something important, scout out a potential site for burying backup supplies.

  Sadie was jealous. Jealous of their friendship. And jealous of their little useful expeditions. No doubt they were planning another one now, although she could barely hear their voices.

  Sadie took another sip of the coffee, and her thoughts turned to the man who'd come by two weeks ago. He'd been in his fifties, with a weather-beaten face and a long, unruly beard. On his watch, Max had found him wandering around the outskirts of the campsite. Max had confronted him, and they'd had a brief standoff, each of them pointing a gun at the other. The man, who'd given his name as Holstead, had agreed to surrender his weapon.

  After a long talk, during which time Max had decided the man wasn't a threat, he'd brought him back to the camp, and they'd all sat around the campfire late into the night, discussing the world, the EMP, and trading bits of news.

  Holstead had confirmed what others had said about Grant and his militia. Of course, Holstead hadn't seen any of it with his own eyes, but he'd heard it from others.

  Holstead had told them about a family that was living not that far away from them. He'd stayed the night at their house, after having an encounter similar to the one he's had with Max. Encounters like that were getting more and more common. And at the same time, encounters where everyone shot first, to kill, were getting more common as well.

  Holstead had said it was a little family of three. A mother, a father, and a daughter, who was about Sadie's age. Sadie could still picture Holstead pointing at her as he'd explained the daughter's age.

  That family was supposed to be only a couple miles away, in a little house on a little road without many other houses. They were just outside the official park boundaries, and apparently the house was tucked out of the way enough that they'd avoided trouble, for the most part. It was a relatively peaceful area. The mob hadn't gotten them, and the marauders and murderers and thieves hadn't gotten them either.

  Sadie glanced again at James and Dan. She felt the jealousy rising in her, coming up from her stomach.

  She wanted a friend of her own. She thought of the friends from school who were likely dead.

  It wasn't fair. Why did her brother get to have a friend? After all, Sadie had to spend all day with the adults. And they weren't bad, but they could get a little tiresome. Max, for instance, was always barking orders at everyone.

  Despite how responsible Sadie had become, she still sometimes felt like she just wanted to goof off. And it wasn't really possible to goof off in the camp, not with all those adults breathing down her neck, telling her to do this or that, until the point where she was tired to the bone and simply needed to eat and sleep.

  But if she could find another girl her age, maybe she could goof off a little. Have some fun. Play the kinds of games her mom had told her about, the kinds of games kids used to play before cell phones and computers, the kinds of games that Sadie had only rarely played in her own childhood. Stuff like kicking a ball around. Or tic-tac-toe.

  Sadie knew that Dan wouldn't even think about playing a game. He was basically like an adult himself. And James? He'd just laugh at her and tell her to go do something useful.

  Sadie glanced around. Everyone was busy. Her mother was asleep.

  If she wanted to leave the camp, she could do it now. Easily. John and Cynthia were on watch now, and Sadie knew just how to avoid them.

  It was a split-second decision.

  She set her Thermos down on the ground, stood up, and quickly made her way away from her brother and Dan.

  She moved quickly through the trees, a smile growing on her face.

  She couldn't remember the last time she'd smiled like that. Or the last time that she'd felt that she would soon be having some fun.

  It didn't occur to her that the girl her age might not even be someone that she'd like or be friends with. After all, one couldn't be that particular in times like these.

  Sadie didn't have much with her. Just the basic kit that Max and Georgia had always agreed that every member of the camp needed to have on themselves. Just in case something happened.
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  The kit had grown over the months, as they'd gathered more supplies.

  Currently, the kit included some kind of fire starter, a handgun, ammunition, a knife, and a small bottle of water.

  The kit wasn't perfect, but it would take care of the biggest threats to life. Hopefully.

  Everyone carried their kit in different ways. Some could stuff it all in their pockets. Sadie's clothes, which were quickly becoming very worn out, often didn't have any pockets, or, if they did, they weren't big enough. So someone had found her a little backpack that she had to wear around all the time.

  The little backpack had a cartoon image on it. It was designed for a kid. And its contents now belied the cute images.

  The little backpack bounced as Sadie walked through the woods.

  They were fortunate enough that there really wasn't a lack of gear. For one thing, there were a few weeks when they could simply walk down the road and find a string of corpses. People who'd died from starvation or violence. And they'd always had something on them. Some piece of gear. Often a firearm or a knife.

  Of course, Sadie had just heard all this. She hadn't left the camp since they'd gotten there.

  She felt more energized with each step she took. She couldn't wait to meet her new friend. Not to mention just get out of the camp. Away from that stifling atmosphere. And from all that work.

  It had rained a little last night, but the sun was now appearing above the trees.

  Sadie had the feeling that this was going to be a good day.

  She did a mental check on the sun's position, just as her mother had taught her. She needed to make sure that she was headed in the right direction. She needed to make sure she could find that family with the girl about her age.

  It took Sadie about an hour to walk to the edge of the national park. She saw no one on her walk. And she saw nothing except nature.

  When she'd left the camp, she'd headed in the direction away from the burial grounds, where they'd buried the corpses from the mob. And the others.

  Up ahead, there was a small squat building. Some kind of welcome center. Sadie had seen things like that before. It was the kind of place that had a couple of maps pinned up in glass cases. And maybe a couple of restrooms that were locked, no matter what the season.

  Off behind the small squat building, Sadie could see the road. It started out as a dirt road, but she could see where it turned into pavement and left the park.

  Sadie paused, standing in place. Her hands were on her backpack straps, holding them as if she were headed off to school.

  She took a deep breath.

  She hadn't left the camp, not to mention the park itself, in so long. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

  Would the others worry? Surely they'd notice soon enough that she was missing.

  And she hated to think that her mother would wake up and not know where she was.

  Sadie hesitated, almost turning on her heel and marching back to camp.

  But then she thought about it more and realized that no one had been paying her much attention anyway back at camp. It'd probably take them all day to notice.

  And her mother would be asleep almost all day. At least until late afternoon. She'd had a long shift that night, and she'd been hard at work the day before, so she'd need all the sleep she could get.

  Sadie thought about it and decided that she'd be able to get back either before her mother woke up, or right after it.

  It'd all work out. The adults were just worrying too much about things. Sadie knew that the world was safer now. The adults had admitted it themselves, saying that so many people had died off that the dangers were diminished.

  But, even so, Sadie wasn't about to enter the outside world without a gun in her hand.

  She may have been young but she wasn't crazy.

  Sadie got one arm out of the backpack. Slung the pack around to her front. Unzipped it, and dug in, reaching for the handgun safely stored in its holster.

  She got it out. Got her backpack back on both shoulders.

  The gun felt good in her hand. A little heavy. But she'd gotten used to it over the last few months.

  She liked having her own gun. It meant safety. It meant protection.

  And now she was gaining a little independence too.

  She'd be back at camp before anyone got worried. It'd all work out.

  3

  Wilson

  Everyone went by their last names at the camp. Including Wilson and Grant. It gave the camp a vaguely military feel.

  Wilson was seated at his folding card table in his tent. He was going over the clipboards full of paperwork, trying to patch a hole in one of the supply chains. In the past, this kind of work would have been made easier with computers. But, with a little patience, a pencil and paper still did the trick.

  Wilson's tent was a large camping tent, the cheap kind that families buy when they know they're only going to be using it once or twice a year.

  There were better tents at the encampment. Real camping tents. Tents with even more space. Tents that didn't have tears in the sides and holes in the bottom.

  But Wilson had never been the sort of man who had craved luxury. He'd never been the type to try to one-up his neighbors. He was always more or less content with the possessions he had, so long as they were practical.

  He cared more about whether something worked than how it looked. Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for everyone in the militia. As far as Wilson was concerned, this was wrong. After all, it was a militia, not a summer camp. And, what’s more, the world was different now.

  But despite the chaos of the world, and the mission they were trying to accomplish here at Grant's camp, there were men who weren't satisfied unless their tents were the best around, their boots new, and their clothes free of rips, tears, and stains.

  Wilson was different.

  Even before the EMP, Wilson had cared about ideas. About goals. Objectives. About what he was doing in the world.

  Nothing had changed since the EMP.

  Before the EMP, Wilson had been a high-powered lawyer. He'd always fought the good fight. Pro bono cases, and things he really believed in were his specialty.

  He'd been the sort of lawyer who'd made half a million a year easy, and that was with him not even chasing the money the way plenty of his colleagues did.

  He'd been respected as lawyer. Very respected. Colleagues constantly consulted him, and international organizations had always been pestering him to give talks at conferences.

  He'd always showed up at the conferences in his old scuffed shoes and wrinkled suits. As far as Wilson was concerned, his job required a suit, and that was as far as he was obligated to take it. For him, the job he was doing was more important than his appearance. Everyone already recognized his talents.

  The post EMP world was no different. After Wilson had gotten hooked up with Grant, it hadn't taken long for others to recognize his talents. Of course, the work here was quite a bit different than it had been before the EMP. But the ideas were the same. The requirements were similar. Organizational skills were crucial. As were people skills.

  The way it stood now, Wilson was something like the personal secretary to Grant, the enigmatic and sometimes mysterious leader of the military camp.

  He was nothing like a secretary in the pre-EMP sense of the world. He didn't do much paper shuffling or filing. There were no phones to answer, although sometimes walkie-talkies and various types of radios were used, especially for certain missions.

  Wilson's own understanding of Grant was still growing. And now he understood that, if anything, Grant was really more of a politician than anything else. Well, a politician and a thinker as well.

  Not many others understood Grant as well as Wilson. And that was because no one had as much personal contact with Grant as Wilson did.

  It was Wilson who delivered Grant the daily briefs. It was Wilson who acted as the liaison between Grant and the rest of the militia camp. It was Wilson w
ho plotted with Grant late into the night, trying to find the solution to some particularly difficult organizational problem.

  Wilson truly believed in Grant and his mission. He wouldn't have done it if he hadn't.

  If Wilson didn't care about restoring order to the country, he would have been off doing something else. Most likely trying to carve out a comfortable lifestyle for himself. There were plenty of others doing it among the wreckage of the country. There were plenty of others who were just starting to get comfortable. Wilson got reports on them all the time.

  Wilson couldn't have done what Grant did. There was just no way. Grant had that charisma. He could walk out of his tent right now and people would just start following him around. Trying to talk to him. Trying to understand what he was thinking.

  Sure, a lot of that had to do with the fact that there wasn't a single person in the camp who didn't recognize Grant on sight. But Wilson suspected that it was just who Grant was. He'd always been like that. Even before starting the camp. Just one of those magnetic people. No matter what they did, people were interested. No matter what they said, people listened.

  Fortunately, Grant happened to have good ideas. Brilliant ideas.

  Wilson was as fully committed to them as Grant was.

  Bringing back order to the US? Completely squashing the incredible chaos and violence that had wrecked the nation since the EMP? It almost sounded too good to be true.

  But that's where the plan came in.

  It was systematic.

  It was novel.

  It was unique.

  It was simple.

  It was brilliant, no matter which way you looked at it.

  A sudden noise outside Wilson's tent door interrupted his train of thinking.

  It was someone clearing their throat. There wasn't any way to really knock on a flimsy tent door, so a lot of the men and women would clear their throats instead.

  For some reason, the noise had always annoyed Wilson.