Doomsday

16. Sowing Seeds

Sunday dawned cloudy and chilly. Before anyone ventured outdoors, Patrick Slayne donned a hazmat suit and conducted his routine morning tests. The previous evening, he had huddled with Carpenter and Deepak Kapur and worked out how they would go about installing remote sensors on the walls. The sensors would be linked to the computers and relay radiation readings as well as the data from bio and chem sniffers.

When Slayne deemed it safe, Carpenter gave the word and everyone emerged from the six bunkers and converged on a grassy area between B Block and the moat. Carpenter encouraged them to bring food and drink and to relax and enjoy themselves, but there was an air of tension. He mentioned it to Diana Trevor, who said it was perfectly normal, given the uncertainties they faced. Carpenter intended to set some of those uncertainties to rest. It was a few minutes before ten when he came out of C Block and stood under a maple tree, the leaves of which were turning brown earlier than they should. The buzz of conversation stopped. He smiled, then began what he believed to be the most important speech of his life.

“Good morning, brothers and sisters. For that is what we are, you know. We are all of us brothers and sisters in adversity. The greatest adversity the human race has known in modern history.

“We’re nor just a collection of strangers culled from all walks of life and thrown together to sink or swim as the whims of fate decide. We share a common bond, a common goal, a common need. The bond is that of survival, the goal is to continue to survive, the need is for us to continually adapt to whatever challenges our drastically changed world throws at us.”

Carpenter stopped and gazed at every one of their upturned faces. “I would like to cement that bond. I would like for each of you to start thinking of those around you not as strangers but as your family.” He waited for snickers or objections, but there were none.

“The Family,” he repeated. “I have been calling us that for some time now. Look at the person next to you and you will see why. We are all in this together. We are all a family in adversity. So from this day on, that is how we will refer to ourselves. The Family.

“A great writer once wrote a book about three Musketeers. You might have heard of it or seen any of the many movies made. There is a line from that book and from those movies that applies to us, as well. One for all, and all for one. It sums up all that we are. A Family, one for all and all for one.” Carpenter gestured to encompass the Blocks, the moat, and the high wall. “Look around you. If we’re a Family, what does that make our compound? From now on we will call it our Home. Start to think of it as that. Say it in your head. Get used to the idea. We are the Family and we live in the Home.” Someone spoke up. “That’s all well and good, but what if we don’t like some of our brothers or sisters?”

“What’s unusual about that? Every Family has conflict. They work around it as we’ll work around it. The important thing to keep in mind is that we can work anything our if we put our minds to it.” Carpenter waited so they could absorb all that he had said so far. Then he went on to the next phase.

“Think of it. We have lived through the end of the world. All that we knew is gone. We are starting over, literally, and I would like to do some things differently from how they were done before.”

“You’re our leader,” a woman declared.

“By default, yes. If you want to bestow that title on me, I accept it. But only under the condition that each of you accepts a title of your own.”

“What do you mean?” This question came from a man on the far side.

“One of the problems that led to the hell we have lived through was the belief by some that they had the right to lord over everyone else. That they could decide what was right and wrong and how we should live our lives—or lose them, if need be—to keep them in power. Power mongers, they were, and they set themselves up above the rest of us.

“There will be none of that here. We are all equals. No one—and I emphasize this—no one has the right to set himself or herself above the rest of us. To prevent that, to keep anyone from getting a swelled head, all of us will be equally important. All of us will have titles of our own.

“So yes, call me the Leader if you want. But in a few days, when we begin to assign jobs based on your specific skills, each of you will have a title, too. Our doctor and nurses will be known as Healers. Our agricultural experts, those who will raise the crops that will sustain our Family over the long haul, will be called Tillers.”

A man interrupted, “Is this really necessary? It strikes me as absurd.”

“We are all equals, remember. There will be no artificial distinctions in the Home. No presidents, no senators, no kings or queens, and by extension, no commoners or average citizens. We are as the ancient Spartans were, peers. We will honor that equality with titles for each of us.”

“I guess that makes sense.”

Carpenter saw nods and smiles and forged on. “In the days to come I’ll talk mote about how I hope to see our Family organized, with your approval, of course.

“But there is one issue that won’t wait, one we must deal with now for the safety of all.” He paused. “You know about the incident in which our Home was invaded and we losr one of our own. You know that if not for the heroism of Mr. Slayne and Mr. Anderson, more lives would have been lost.” Out on the grass, Toril took Soren’s hand in hers and gave him a tender squeeze. Magni grinned and patted his leg. Freya looked troubled.

“The attack has demonstrated a need. I blame myself for Mr. Richardson’s death. I should have foreseen this contingency.”

Diana Trevor spoke up. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“I’m the Leader, aren’t I? It’s on my shoulders.” Carpenter stopped. “But enough of my oversight. What we need is a small group whose sole purpose will be to defend the Home and protect the Family. I believe nine should do to start, but we’ll add more as conditions warrant. In keeping with out new rule about titles, we’ll call them Warriors.”

Someone laughed. “Isn’t that a tad pretentious?”

“No more so than calling me the Leader. And if you’ll recall, the concept of the warrior has a long and noble history. The Spartans I’ve already alluded to. There were the samurai. The Minutemen. Special Forces. I could go on and on. Calling our fighters Warriors is more than appropriate.” No one disputed him.

“We’re agreed? Good. I hereby choose Patrick Slayne to appoint the team of Warriors. With his military and security background, he is ideally suited to the task.”

A woman raised her hand. “Is that all they’ll do? Fight? What if he picks someone who is one of those Tillers you talked about? Who will fill the Tiller’s shoes?”

“We’ll make do as best we can. The Warriors are crucial to our survival. We can’t just pick people and shove guns in their hands. They’ll need to practice working together, so if and when the Home is attacked, they’ll mesh as a team. If it develops that we don’t need the Warriors to be on alert 24-7, then of course they can perform other duties as required. Does that answer your question?” The woman nodded.

Carpenter glanced at Slayne. “Patrick, is there anything you’d like to say? Do you want to choose your people now or later?”

Slayne stood. “Brothers and sisters,” he began, and grinned as he said it, “as head of security—pardon me—as a Warrior, I’ll do my best to safeguard the life of every Family member. As we’ve already learned the hard way, the job calls for constant vigilance, and as our Leader pointed out, and Alf Richardson found out too late, it takes more than good intentions. For the Warriors to be effective, they must be true warriors in every sense of the word. They must be fighting machines.”

“We’re people, not machines,” a woman said.

“Exactly. And because we are living, breathing beings, we tend to make mistakes. We slip up. We don’t pay attention when we should. We forget to do things.” Slayne paused. “But I ask you to consider that mistakes cost lives. For our Warriors to make as few of them as is humanly possible, they must be carefully selected and just as carefully trained. We’re not talking a few hours of target practice and hand-to-hand combat. No. For our Warriors to best serve and protect, for them to be the best they can be, they must train each and every day. I’ll develop the program myself. We’ll have them hone their skills to where they are the equal of any special ops unit in this country or any other.” A man coughed. “Aren’t you asking a lot? I mean, I doubt many of us have combat experience.”

“I’ll find out exactly who does and who doesn’t soon enough. But that’s not all that important. The real issue is that those who become Warriors realize the depth of the commitment they must make.”

“How will you select them?” a woman asked.

“I’ll ask for volunteers. We can’t ever force someone to put their life on the line against their will. Whoever applies must want to do it. They must be willing to fight and die for the Family and the Home. So any of you who feel in your heart that you can make that sacrifice, feel free to see me. After a sifting process, we’ll pick those we deem best suited.”

“We?”

“Our Leader, Diana Trevor and myself. Dr. Trevor, as some of you know, is an eminent psychologist and educator and has a say in all important Home matters.”

A subdued ripple spread, prompting Kurt Carpenter to step forward and say, “Is something the matter?” A burly man with arms as thick as tree trunks stood. “Sam Richter, Mr. Carpenter. I’m a blacksmith, remember?”

“Call me Kurt. A blacksmith and a weapon smith, as I recall.”

“I’d like to know if you meant what you said about us being equals and peers?”

“Of course I did.”

“Then how is it that you and Dr. Trevor and Mr. Slayne, there, get to decide what’s good for us and what isn’t? How is it you pick the Warriors and we have no say?”

Carpenter went to answer, but Slayne put a hand on his arm.

“Mr. Richter, have you ever killed anyone?”

“Goodness, no, Mr. Slayne. I’ve never even been in a fight.”

“I have. I’ve had to kill a number of times. Those who become Warriors will have to kill, too. It’s the single most important ability, for want of a better word, a Warrior must have. Now I ask you, which of us is better able to judge whether someone has that ability? You, who by your own admission has never harmed a soul in your life? Or someone like me, the head of a worldwide security firm, a former navy SEAL and deputy sheriff?”

Richter grinned sheepishly. “I get your point.”

“As for Professor Trevor,” Carpenter said, “I’ve relied on her judgment a great deal in the formulation of my plans. She designed the tests you took to qualify to be here. Her psychological assessment of Warrior applicants will be invaluable.”

He stopped and regarded the Family members a moment. “I know what some of you are thinking. That I’ve set myself up as your lord and master. But nothing could be further from the truth. I never make a decision without consulting those best able to give me advice. If the decision is important enough, if it affects our whole Family, then I give you my word that from this day on, I’ll put it to a vote so everyone can have their say.”

“That’s reasonable,” a woman declared.

A gust of wind hit Carpenter in the face. He glanced up. The sky seemed a darker shade of gray than it had been, and he would swear the gray was moving and rippling, almost as if it were alive. A man waved a hand to get his attention. “Ed Batson, Kurt. Nurse. I have no interest in being a Warrior. I like to save lives, not destroy them. But I also like to think I’m practical, and it occurs to me that it might be wise to encourage everyone to wear or carry firearms, especially if we venture outside these walls.” The wind kept buffeting Carpenter. He gazed beyond the west wall and saw what he took to be rain in the distance. “You make a good point, Ed. Let’s make it a rule, shall we, that no one leaves the Home unless they are armed or have someone with them who is.”

An infant squealed and raised a tiny hand to the sky.

“When will we be able to go out?” an older man inquired. “The compound—sorry, our Home—has plenty of space, but I’d like to get out and about now and then.”

“First things first. We must get the Home in order before we venture beyond the safety of its walls.” A small dark flake flitted out of the sky and landed on the grass.

“Is there anything any of you care to bring up?”

A woman with wavy red hair stood up. “Yes, there is. You can’t expect us to stay in the bunkers forever. It’s too crowded and there’s hardly any privacy. Where will we live once it’s safe to come out?” Carpenter began to respond but stopped with his mouth half open as more flakes fell, some of them fluttering like butterflies. He reached out and a large flake landed on his palm. It reminded him of ash.

“What in the world?” someone blurted.

A woman turned her head to the sky and gasped. “Is that what I think it is?” Carpenter glanced up, too, and icy fingers gripped his heart. The sky was filled with flakes. Not hundreds or thousands or hundreds of thousands but millions, descending in a quiet rain of potential death. For it wasn’t ash, he realized; it was nuclear fallout.

“God in heaven.”