Perhaps he’s a redneck / beatnik hybrid, she thought. I wonder if the redneck in him will have a problem talking to a black woman.
“Hi, um, we mean you no harm,” she did her best to smile, something not naturally in her character. “My name is Captain Cassy Simms and I’ve got good news. Consider your town liberated.”
The redneck/beatnik hybrid cringed as if he bit into a sour apple.
“Liberated? What the hell does that mean?”
“I know; there are only four of us. We’re a scouting party for the 1 ^ st Mechanized Division. We’re part of a human army that’s been retaking the entire region. Why, we control everything all the way up to Pennsylvania.”
The leader spoke again, this time with less sour-face.
“And why would I care about that?”
This caught Cassy off guard. Usually she received one of two responses. The first response might be disbelief, either in shock, or in fear of deception.
The second response was normally a flood of questions or requests such as “do you have food?” or “we need medicine” or even “help us, there’s a horned monster with glowing red eyes that keeps stealing the town’s women.”
Occasionally they would stumble upon warlords running a colony of slaves, usually with a three to one female to male ratio. In such instances, bullets met scouting parties.
This response-one of indifference-came as a surprise.
Cassy eyed this man a little closer, trying to see beyond the redneck physique and the beatnik clothing.
No malnutrition, clean grooming, and his teeth appeared in decent shape. This was not a struggling survivor.
However, she followed the first contact playbook and said, “Why would you care? Well, because we can get you food, medicine, and all sorts of supplies. If there are any hostiles around here bugging you, we’ll hunt them down and wipe them out.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I know we don’t look like much but there are a couple thousand soldiers, vehicles, and big guns that’ll be here before the day is out. You’ll see. You’ll be impressed.”
A different man said, “I don’t think so.”
This older man sported gray and white hair around a balding scalp. He stepped to the front of the group. As he did, the redneck told him, “She says she’s a Captain in some army. I think they’re thieves or something, Chief. We should run them out of town with buckshot in their behinds.”
Cassy’s mind raced as she realized she had completely misunderstood the situation. Her thoughts turned to shooting and she decided the redneck would get an extra shot in the face just for talking tough.
The older man, however, quickly diffused the situation.
“Calm down,” he told the redneck/beatnik hybrid. “I don’t believe a fight is in anyone’s interest.”
“No, it’s not,” Cassy jumped in. “We’re not here to fight. We’re here to help. Honest. If you don’t believe me, just wait and the rest of my formation will be here in a few hours.”
“Oh, I believe you, Captain.” the Chief said. “I believe every word you’ve said. Especially the part about your soldiers coming along this road later.”
“I’m sure General Shepherd will be happy to discuss all of the benefits to your town that we will provide,” and she realized her words came out jumbled and silly sounding, the result of befuddlement at the townspeople’s disposition.
“I do look forward to speaking with this General Shepherd,” the elder told her. “In fact, if you would not mind, please see if he will join us as soon as he is able. And please, ask him to leave his army behind.”
Shepherd walked amidst the buildings of the town and found himself impressed both with the place and with his guide, Robert Parsons, Chief of the New Winnabow Council.
The structures stood close together, packed in tight along narrow stone streets except for Rt. 17, which drove directly through the middle of it all. Those structures included a community arena that was surprisingly large for something built after the fall of civilization without the benefit of the most modern construction tools.
They called the area surrounding the arena The Commons, and it included ‘public’ buildings such as the council chambers, a school, and what Parsons called a necessary evil, the armory.
During their thirty-minute tour of “New Winnabow”, Shepherd learned that five hundred residents lived here, mainly in rebuilt homes within the town’s borders or in the temporary housing of a trailer park to the southwest.
The swamps to the north and west harbored many dangers, but also provided a cornucopia of natural medicines and food. The coastal plains to the east were deserted, almost entirely free of people or monsters.
Within the limits of ‘New Winnabow,” Shep observed old and young, families and single adults, and residents from just about every “race” (if that term meant anything anymore).
At the same time, utopia remained out of reach. He saw sick and injured in the small hospital, some dying from simple infections that the town’s meager medical supplies could not control. In a corner graveyard, he read tombstones for those lost to predatory alien animals as well as markers for children who never grew up because of a soaring infant mortality rate.
Yet overall, he witnessed a functioning town with order and purpose for each citizen, making it the first time outside of Trevor Stone’s estate that Jerry Shepherd saw survivors thriving.
He could not help but smile to himself and think well done.
The two men arrived outside the council chambers, a brick and stone building with a wooden roof. No doubt, many skilled masons lived in the town.
As a boy pulling a cart filled with seeds and flowers walked by, Chief Parsons finished a thought: “Our food mainly comes from agriculture, hunting, and fishing.”
“Fishing, eh? Nothing like drowning a few worms to pass a day.”
“If you like to fish, General, I recommend Town Creek just north of here. You’ll find a nice stock of herring and catfish. That would make for a good dinner, I’d say.”
“I reckon it would.”
“I hope you’ve enjoyed your tour of New Winnabow, General.”
“You seem to have done a fair sight well for yourself, Mr. Parsons,” Shepherd conceded as he admired the peaceful but busy surroundings.
“We have done so, General, by rejecting everything you stand for. As that is the case, I must ask you and your men to turn around and never come back.”
“I don’t understand. We mean you no harm. In fact, I think you’d like being-”
“A part of The Empire?” Parsons tried to be as nice as he could when he said it, but his distaste for those words carried on his tongue.
“Well, yes,” Shepherd wondered yet again why Trevor chose that name. “Like I said, seems to me you’ve done well for yourself. But most people haven’t in these hard times. That’s what The Empire is about. Rebuilding our society and kicking the aliens off the planet. So far, we’re doing a pretty fine job of it.”
Parsons shook his head in either pity or disappointment.
“Man never learns, does he?”
“I don’t rightly follow you.”
“General, I am sure you are an honorable man. Nonetheless, we are not in need of liberation. We are armed- not as well as you, no doubt — but armed enough to protect ourselves from the creatures in the swamp. We are not in need of protection.”
Shep scratched the back of his neck absently and told Parsons, “That may be so, but a few dozen miles away there’s a whole army of smart lizards that enslave people like you and me. If we don’t kick them out of the Carolinas, I reckon some day they’re going take an interest in your little community.”
“The Hivvans-that’s what you called them, right? — they have never bothered us. And I know why.”
“Why is that, Mr. Parsons?”
“What happened to mankind was brought upon us by our violence and taste for war. We have rejected all of that here. We do not fight among ourselves and we do not go searching out aliens to kill. We only kill to hunt and to defend our town, not to conquer or seek retribution against the invaders.”