As we filled and loaded the jugs, I told them about my conversations with Deke and Director Evans.
“Evans has been running things since your uncle got sick,” Alyssa said. “I figured it was okay, just a temporary thing until you got back, or I would have complained or something.”
“Sometimes,” Ben said, “a fast counterattack can accomplish more than a slower, more careful approach to the enemy”
“You can’t, like, shoot Evans,” Max said to Ben.
“You misunderstand me,” Ben said. “I’m talking about a political counterattack. Although really, war is a continuation of politics by another means, as von Clausewitz wrote.”
“That makes sense.” I thought about it all the way back to Speranta. By the time we had finished emptying all the water jugs into one of the greenhouse tanks, I knew what to do. “Thanks, Ben,” I said as I handed him the two empties I held.
“You are welcome,” Ben called as he and the others set off to make another trip to the well. I went to the long-house—I planned to spend the rest of the afternoon preparing my counterattack.
I dragged load after load of supplies in from the Bikezillas. After a couple of trips, Anna and Charlotte showed up. Charlotte had her eight-year-old sister, Wyn, in tow. Their eyes were dark and their cheeks tear-streaked. They’d lost their mother while I was gone. I hadn’t seen their father, Zik, since I’d returned. I gave each of them a hug, telling them how sorry I was but knowing how utterly futile and inadequate my words were.
“Heard you could use some help,” Anna said. She leaned in toward me and whispered, “I think they could use a distraction right now.”
“Thanks.” I was happy to have the help. I pointed out a row of plastic pots and sprouting trays I had brought in from the Bikezillas. “Fill all those with the best dirt you can find, would you?”
We worked all afternoon, filling pots and laying out seeds until nearly every counter and table in the long-house was full. Director Evans stopped by and asked me what I was doing. “Getting ready to plant the seeds we found in Rockford,” I told him. I didn’t want to give him any hint of the counterattack before it hit him.
“A fine idea,” he said. “How can I help?”
“We’ve got it, thanks.”
At twilight Max, Ben, and Alyssa came to help. The only seeds we didn’t lay out, ready to plant, were kale seeds.
When everyone filed in for dinner, they found the potting supplies. I raised my voice enough to be heard over the hubbub. “Before dinner tonight, I’d like to share part of the bounty we found in Rockford with all of you. Take a few pots or sprouting trays—however many you’d like to care for. Plant whatever seeds you wish. There are hundreds of choices laid out on the tables in front of you, almost anything you want—except kale.” A few people laughed. “I kept all the kale for myself.” More people laughed. If there was one thing I was sure of, it was that we were all thoroughly sick of kale.
“Keep your pots in the longhouse or one of the greenhouses and care for your seedlings. Whatever sprouts will form the core of your own garden, and every family will have their own plot of land in a greenhouse to raise their own vegetables.”
Director Evans started to say something, but I spoke over him. “And now, before we begin planting, could I ask Reverend Evans to say a blessing over these plants, to give thanks for the nourishment they will provide?”
“A fine idea,” Evans said and began his blessing.
We spent almost an hour planting. People chatted over the various seeds, oohing and aahing over the pictures on the seed packages, trading seeds until every pot we had was planted. Then we cleared off the tables and sat down to a meager dinner of roasted kale and tortillas made from greenhouse-grown wheat.
After dinner I rose and banged on my water glass with a spoon. Years ago I had seen someone do that in a movie about a wedding. It worked—everyone quieted down and looked my way. I was nervous—not about confronting Evans, though, but about the next topic on my agenda.
“First,” I said, “I’d like to offer my thanks to Jim Evans for his service to Speranta in my absence. When my uncle got sick, Jim stepped in and ably kept things running. We owe our continued supply of kale to him.” There were several groans at the mention of kale—exactly the effect I was hoping for. I led the audience in a round of polite applause. Evans rose and started to speak, but I interrupted him, smiling to soften my words. “Sit down, Jim, I’m not finished yet.”
“I also want to thank the original settlers of Speranta.” I named them all, starting with Darla and ending with myself. “Without your bravery and hard work, we wouldn’t have this fine building sheltering us or the electricity that warms and lights our greenhouses. And we wouldn’t have been able to lend a helping hand to our neighbors as they lay bleeding and dying on the highway outside Warren. Thank you.”
The applause was considerably more enthusiastic that time.
“I owe thanks also to the twenty-nine brave souls who volunteered to accompany me to Rockford. Without their bravery and sacrifice, we wouldn’t have all the seeds you just planted.” I had to quit for a moment, the applause was so loud. “They also found the supplies that will enable us to build more greenhouses to feed ourselves no matter how long this winter lasts!” More applause.
“When there were only twelve of us, we could operate by consensus. Now with the influx of new people and new talents, we need a more formal organizational system. It has been my honor and privilege to guide this settlement, to lead Speranta through its founding and naming, but I couldn’t have done it alone. I owe my success—in fact, we all owe our success—to Paul Halprin and Darla Edmunds, without whose engineering and mechanical genius, we would have no electric lights, no greenhouse, and no food.”
The crowd interrupted me again for more applause. “And we owe our very survival to Ben Fredericks, whose military genius led us to this spot, and who designed the long-house and sniper platform system that will keep us safe in the years to come.” The crowd applauded again. Ben was oblivious, leaning against a wall and sketching something on a notepad that I had picked up in Rockford for him.
“But I recognize that with a new, larger population, we may need new leadership. That some of you may be uncomfortable with such a young leader, even one who has a proven track record of success. The original settlers are only a minority now, and all our new citizens should have a say in who governs them.
“Some days I wonder if America is dead. Why has there been no help for us from the East? When terrorists or hurricanes or floods threatened America, we pulled together. We helped each other. But the volcano seems to have blown us apart. If there is still a functioning government east of us, I didn’t find any evidence of it during our trip to Rockford.
“But even if America is dead, I am still enough of an American to believe in the ideals she stood for, to believe we can reconstitute America in some small way, here in this longhouse, in spirit if not in fact. I believe in the right of every citizen to have a say in who governs them, and to that end, I offer you a choice tonight—should I stay on as leader of our new community of Speranta or not? A vote ‘yes’ will continue us on the path we’ve started on. A vote ‘no’ will trigger new elections to be held two weeks from now.”
Jim Evans had risen to his feet. “We need a constitution, a primary, a campaign—you can’t just spring this on us all of a sudden.”
“I can and do demand that this be settled expeditiously. My uncle and our only doctor are gravely ill, along with dozens of your friends and family members. We will settle this question tonight, so that in the morning I can devote all of my personal resources to obtaining food and medical care for our sick.”