“Been gettin’ some feedback on the rest of the world, too. Some pretty solid info seems to be coming out of Langley Air Force Base via satellite. It ain’t pleasant. The Hawaiian Islands are gone. So is most of Japan, Hong Kong, and a good portion of China. Central America’s been banged up pretty bad, too, lots of volcanic activity. And most of the Bahamas are under water.”
At the mention of Japan, the sensei’s normally tranquil face tensed for a moment and a small sigh escaped him. Travis turned and placed his hand on the man’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Sensei,” he said, not knowing what else to say that would ease his companion’s loss.
The Japanese took a deep breath and brought his head up, his features once again proud and inscrutable—as if chiseled from stone. “Thank you, Travis-san,” he said in a quiet voice that all but betrayed his appearance.
The preacher continued. “Europe’s had some major changes too, from what they say. England, Scotland, and most of the coast of France—gone. This is all second-hand, but it looks like there was some sort of partial shift in the planet’s poles. Huge, previously populated areas of the earth are now covered with ice, just as if they were never there. There’s not a peep coming out of the northern part of Africa and a good portion of the South Pacific, and there’s talk that the polar ice caps may be covering those areas now.”
Travis decided to ask the question that was the basis of the plan he had been forming. “What have you heard specifically about the Arkansas area?”
“Well, son, I had a chat with a fella up in those parts a couple of days ago. Seems they got shook up pretty damned hard—somethin’ to do with a large fault called the New Madrid. Somewhere near St. Louis, I think. Looks like there’s a lot of waterfront property in Eastern Arkansas, now that it borders that new inland sea. Mostly, they’ve survived okay in west and northern Arkansas, but they’re havin’ to pick up a lot of the pieces.” The preacher paused for a moment, took a sip of coffee, then continued. “My best advice for anyone still alive is to head for the hills, literally. Find someplace away from the cities. Cities are gonna be death to anyone in and around them. Get up in the mountains somewhere. Get a garden started. Shoot some game and dry the meat, like Travis said. Then beg, borrow, or steal every piece of solar or turbine energy-makin’ equipment you can find. Arm yourself and wait this whole thing out.”
“God, if you don’t sound like my buddy Cody,” Travis remarked, amazed at the similarity in their thinking. “So, what are you going to do, Preacher? What are your plans?”
“Well, son, I don’t rightly know, to tell ya the truth. I didn’t have much family left to speak of before the big change. Wife’s gone; left me for a gal-derned piana player ten years ago. She was a might younger and I guess she needed more than me and Everglades City could show her. No kids, only a couple a cousins and a sister I ain’t seen in a coon’s age. I reckon now I ain’t got no one at all. There’s nothing left of my home, or Florida for that matter. Guess I’ll head north and see how far I get before the ol’ girl runs out of fuel. Got almost full tanks, so that’s gonna last a while.”
Listening to the preacher talk, Travis decided this was as good a time as any to present his plan to the group. When the preacher finished, he stood up.
“Listen, everybody. Having heard what the preacher has said about the condition of the country, I’ve decided what I’d like to do— what I think would give us the best chance for survival. But I’d like your vote of approval, so let me tell you what I have in mind.” Looking over at the preacher, Travis said, “You’re welcome to come in with us on this, too. In fact, I’d like to have you.”
“Let’s hear what you have to say, son.”
Travis looked around at the group once more, then continued. “I own forty acres of beautiful, fertile land in the Ouachita Mountains of Arkansas. When I bought it, there were deer and wild turkey everywhere, not to mention a creek that runs through the property that’s chock-full of bass and perch. There is, or at least there was, a nice house on the property, plus a guest trailer. If I can make it to Arkansas—if
we
can make it to Arkansas—by way of this new waterway, we can walk to my property from where we leave the boats. I can’t think of a better place to regroup and sit out the changes this world is in the process of making. I won’t tell you the trip will be a piece of cake. I don’t even know for sure we can negotiate a sailboat all that way; but I do know, gut level, that if we can make it there, we can survive. For those of you whom this plan doesn’t suit, I’m sure we’ll make a number of landfalls and anyone is free to leave anytime they find a better situation for themselves.”
After Travis made his speech, he prepared himself for the arguments he felt would come. Instead, he was surprised to the core when Christina spoke up without the least bit of hesitation. “Travis,” she said, “I think if anybody can do it, you can. I’m in.”
The preacher stood up and lumbered over to Travis, his arm extended. He mauled Travis’ hand with his huge paw and bellowed, “I’m in, too, son. Anywhere you can get the keel of that sailboat, I can follow with
Jesus’ Love.
Hot damn, I’ll be the first shrimper in Arkansas!”
Next the sensei stood and bowed slightly. “When do we leave, Captain?”
Travis grinned at the sensei, and returned his bow respectfully, then walked over to Todd, and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Okay with you, Todd?” he asked. The lad looked up at Travis, put his arm around the man’s waist, and nodded solemnly.
Suddenly Carlos piped up, echoing the preacher’s expression with his Cuban accent, “Hot damn,
Jefe
. Time for
cervezas
for everyone!”
And so, with Budweisers in hand, the group celebrated their survival, toasted their captain, and planned the next leg of their odyssey into the new world, until the beer ran out, the sun set, and the cold, moonless night wrapped its dark arms around the little flotilla.
The next morning, which was Sunday, the preacher insisted upon a short service before the company departed. Standing on the forecastle of his boat, he gazed down at his small congregation, and cleared his throat. He extended his arms, Bible in hand like a prophet out of the Old Testament, lifted his eyes to the heavens. “Lord!” he cried, “Great Shepherd! Gathered before you today are the remainder of your flock in these here parts. We ask Thee—nay, we beseech Thee—watch over, guide, and protect the last of your lambs. With your sword of righteousness you have struck down the sodomiting, insectaciding Philistines, the Sodom and Gomorrahs of the east and west coasts, pregnant with noxious emissions and toxic wastes, filled with fornicators, scalawaggers and carburetors. Your lightning and your sword have taken those who would ravage nature, who defile and destroy without conscience, the creatures of your making. The sinners of the earth have forfeited their miserable lives for the pleasure of pride: fox furs, elephant tusks, and alligator shoes.
“Guide us now, Lord. Deliver us to the New Eden. Let our flesh be the flesh of the New World! These things we ask in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holiest of Ghosts. Amen.”
“Amen,” repeated everyone aboard the sailboat, relieved at the brevity of the sermon and anxious to be under way.
Travis had gone over charts with the preacher and the sensei the night before. They planned to stay with the “BC” coastlines—before the change—an expression the preacher had coined. That way they were fairly safe from underwater obstacles. As they neared northern Florida and southern Georgia, they would look for coastlines where they could make landfall for information and supplies. The Global Positioning System would allow them to pinpoint their exact location.
The boats were to be kept in sight of each other at all times and would anchor close together in the evening for mutual protection. The adults would take shifts standing guard at night. Carlos agreed to travel with the preacher and Christina took over Carlos’ duty in the galley of the sailboat.
All things in order, they upped anchors and set their course and their hopes for the north.
PART TWO
HOMEWARD
“To the hills, those of you destined for the New Eden, to the hills.
“Far from the hungry cry of doomed and ruined cities.
“Journey forth, and witness the birth of a New Age. Take your place in the history of the world.
“But keep your eyes peeled and your powder dry, for there are still those who would steal your dreams.”
— The Preacher
CHAPTER 10
DELTA CAMP, NORTHWEST ARKANSAS
Colonel “Dutch” Rockford stood on the deck of his Quonset hut and surveyed the camp below: Delta Camp, base of operations for the Arkansas Militia, military branch of “The New Provincial Government of Arkansas.” Colonel Rockford, the conceptual architect of the Provincial Government and Commander in Chief of the Arkansas Militia, was witnessing the fulfillment of a life-long dream.
It probably wouldn’t have come to pass in such a timely fashion without the recent catastrophe, but then he had allowed for that. No, actually he had planned on it. From the reports coming into his communications center, the rest of the nation was in a shambles. The Federal Government had collapsed, and most local authorities had all but given up. That, too, fit nicely into his plans.
Arkansas had been shaken badly, as close to the New Madrid Fault as it was. Most of the eastern delta was under water, and possibly a third of the dwellings in the state had been badly damaged or destroyed. Casualties were in the tens of thousands. But the backbone of the state, the Ozark and Ouachita Mountain ranges, had absorbed the shockwaves and buffered much of the populace. The nuclear plants outside Russellville had survived intact, which was perhaps the greatest saving grace. If it had been any other way, there would have been nothing left for him to salvage.
Rockford gazed out over the activity below: supplies being unloaded and stored, troops drilling, newcomers being oriented. He smiled, savoring the taste and smell of rising power.
The New Provincial Government of Arkansas.
As a young man fresh out of high school, Rockford had joined the Army. A few years later, when the struggle in Vietnam became an unofficial war, he found himself in the Mekong Delta fighting a brutal, elusive enemy who tried his patience and his courage. Fortunately for him, he managed to display these same qualities and earned a field commission. He survived his first tour, then did a second. His latter tour, however, was cut short by a board of inquiry and accusations regarding his treatment of Vietcong prisoners. There were rumors, very strong rumors, that Captain Rockford was far too enthusiastic in the interrogation of prisoners. It was also said that his participation was close up and personal, with his own favorite knife on occasion.
When all the legal smoke cleared, the bottom line on the inquiry was that there were no witnesses who would come forth and testify to the allegations. Actually, there had been one—a Lieutenant Billingsly —who filed a statement, but he was killed on night patrol only a few days before his testimony was due. The official report read that he had been shot by friendly fire when he accidentally extended his position too far forward.
The captain had proven himself to be an exemplary soldier otherwise, so it was decided by the Board that he would be sent stateside, to a training facility near his hometown of Fort Smith, Arkansas. In a twist of fate, the slightly psychopathic Captain Rockford, who could have been court-martialed, returned home a hero.
In the ensuing fifteen or sixteen years, the captain became a colonel and eventually retired from the armed forces. However, during that time, he laid the groundwork for a long-term goal he intended to realize upon leaving the service: “the formation of a paramilitary organization that would serve as a protective agency for the civilian populace of the State of Arkansas, superseding federal and state authorities at such time when those authorities could no longer ensure the safety, defense, and welfare of the population.”
Colonel Rockford was somewhat of a visionary—a less than perfectly balanced one, but a visionary nonetheless, and wrapped around his slightly twisted personality was a genuine desire to preserve and protect most of the people in his home state. He was convinced that, at some point in time, a collapse of the central government would be brought about by one of three things: a gradual, combined uprising of indigenous minorities and burgeoning immigrant populations in the cities, spreading outward across the country and eventually developing into civil war; a limited nuclear war with terrorist-affiliated rogue countries, leaving the U.S. devastated and crippled, but functioning in some “clean areas” less affected by the bombs and fallout; or a natural disaster of catastrophic proportions, such as had actually taken place.
The majority of the colonel’s career having been spent in Arkansas, he had managed to establish a number of powerful connections in the socio-political framework of the state. After retirement, he began to work in earnest on the founding of his Arkansas Militia. Rockford purchased a large, remote tract of land just south of Fort Smith in the foothills of the Ouachita Mountains, and began developing the property. He gathered a core of followers, many of whom had served under him in the Army, and they began to spread his doctrine. The colonel financed and supported the group with his own considerable wealth, and discreet contributions from people who couldn’t afford to be overtly connected to him, but who sympathized with his concepts. In the end, what he achieved was the establishment of an organization that attracted primarily an Aryan survivalist mentality, but fostered loftier ideals such as patriotism, defense of hearth and home, and loyalty to the Militiamen and the State of Arkansas.
In true Machiavellian style, the charter of the New Provincial Government sanctioned the confiscation by eminent domain any property that was necessary for the establishment of militia training areas, military bases of operation, buffer zones, and communications or headquarters facilities.