United, page 5
part #4 of Protectorate Series
It was only once I was inside the Community and receiving my primary education that I learned it was no such mercy. I had been the only one to contract the illness because I had been the only one exposed for such an extended duration of time. The metallic taste in the air, the flu-like symptoms afterward, all pointed to mild radiation poisoning.
We knew little of such things in the Outskirts. Yes, we all knew the land was destroyed, hazardous to our health, and that poisonous storms tore through without warning. But beyond that, we had little concern about giving it names.
Looking out the transport now, I wondered if this area was truly safe. How could the frozen water clinging to the small shrubs and dirt not also contain the same radioactive contamination that I had suffered from all those years ago?
The closer we got to the settlement, the more snow there seemed to be. It went from sparse smatterings to completely blanketing the ground. I wondered how the transport was even driving as the drifts seemed to get deeper and deeper.
The magnetic system that kept the transport hovering over the earth somehow used the planet’s own magnetic current. I wondered at what point of snow level the distance between the two would become too great to hover over the ground. Jake didn’t share my concerns, apparently, as he continued forward without the slightest hesitation.
We reached the settlement just as the sun was reaching over the tips of the northern mountain range. I had never seen mountains completely covered in snow, even at a distance. We were still a good few miles from them, but even the thought of complete snow cover and the frostline not far from it made me tense in fear automatically.
Finally, the barren land slowly gave way to trees. It wasn’t like the other settlements we had visited thus far. Those were an oasis in the middle of nowhere. This was an entire line of a forest as far as the eye could see east and west. It was like a line that slowly started until the woods were so thick we couldn’t even see the northern mountains in the distance between them.
Jake worked to weave around the trees. There was no road making its way into wherever we were headed. I couldn’t believe that people could actually live up here in so much snow. It was a smooth blanket that covered not only the ground but every single branch of trees hanging over us.
How anyone could survive in this condition was beyond my understanding, let alone how someone could choose to leave a community for living here. I leaned closer to my window, pressing my forehead to the cold glass. The snow was almost entirely undisturbed. There had to be at least two feet of it on the ground, judging by the small dips that surrounded the tree bases.
Aside from falling branches puncturing the perfection of the white blanket, I noticed little drips out in the open. But not like scattered raindrops on the white clouds. They were rows of drips in two parallel paths. It had to be tracks.
Tracks of what? The education we received in the Communities told us that no animals had survived past the ones saved by the Protectorate and kept within Community walls. There was clear proof all around this forest of the contrary.
I thought back to the different animal pictures I had seen growing up in primary school. I was sure that not many cold-blooded creatures could survive in these conditions. If I remember right, that would only leave birds and mammals to leave the tracks.
Birds, of course, would fly, in my opinion. That led me to consider what kind of mammals could’ve survived. They were reasonably small tracks, so I hoped they were of non-threatening creatures like the rodents and not the massive bears and lions.
We hadn’t gone too far into the thickening tree line when we came upon the small settlement. The land had been cleared and snow banked up around it with a single way for the transport. They must have used the trees to create the eight-foot wall that confronted us. A part of me ached for the trees. Yes, they were clearly plentiful here, but I had grown up my whole life seeing trees and wood—outside of the fast-growing bamboo—as a precious treasure. Here they had been hewn down by the hundreds and made into a primitive log-and-mud fortress.
There was one door, and I could see on top of the wall a few men walking the perimeter. I guessed it was the few Fighters sent to protect this small settlement from Defective attacks.
Now seeing the place, I believed Theo’s assumption that Defectives would never move up this far north. I had only seen them once around the Northwest Community because they never traveled so far up in the country and away from the plenty surrounding the four inner Communities.
I wondered if perhaps cold was a weakness of theirs—and mine, I supposed—or if they were just smart enough not to go somewhere they could freeze or die of radioactive snow.
“Is the snow alright?” I asked Jake, breaking the silence. I doubted he would know any better than I would.
“I guess,” he shrugged, suggesting his guess was as good as mine. “Mom said this place has been here a while and they are all alright so it should be good,” he added quickly.
They had cleared the snow back away from the fortress as well as a roadway leading up to the main entrance. I was surprised that it was a hard-packed dirt road and not at all the muddy, sloshy mess I would have expected with all this moisture around. I guess that meant the weather was pretty cold for the ground to be frozen solid consistently.
They anticipated our arrival, I supposed. We didn’t even have to wait outside the wall. The doors were already opened by the time we arrived. They were two large wood things that took several men to push. It was just large enough for our transport to make it through.
Inside it was much larger than I expected. Or perhaps it just looked large because it was almost completely empty. With the open exposed nature of this settlement, there was what looked like land cleared for farming, but as of right now it was vacant. Instead of growing produce, there were more logs laid out in various stages of processing.
Next to the fields was a large farm shed with its double doors open. Inside I could see people working, with every inch of them bundled except their faces. Little puffs of frost floated from their mouths as they were cutting, sawing, and working the wood.
Part of me wanted to tell them to stop. Yes, the forest around here looked dense and healthy. Some of the trees were so thick around I didn’t think two people could wrap their arms around them, but still, it had to be a limited supply.
I thought of the Capitol building inside the Northwest Community. I had only been in there a few times with Charles and as a child on a school trip. The assembly hall had been line with decorative wood paneling from what we had thought was the last of the sequoias. Such a waste in my eyes. To use the very last simply to show power and extravagance. Was history repeating itself now? Would they use up all these trees like the Protectorate had once thought it had done before them?
This settlement seemed to mirror a Protectorate Community almost perfectly. First coming in there were the fields and the wood, I guessed to give them close access to deporting goods. Soon it gave way to little shops. I would have guessed five at the most. There was a small market of food, including colorful fresh produce, and strung by its back legs was what I assumed made the tracks in the snow.
Other shops included a small stand with bolts of sturdy fabrics in neutral colors. A woman sat in the large window, hand-sewing a piece. Next to it was a shop that said “Perkins Hardware and Supplies.” I couldn’t believe that this little settlement with so few people was not only entirely surrounded by a completed wall but had family-owned shops. How long had these people been living in the open?
Beyond the shops was a commons area with its own small assembly hall building labeled as such. It made me swallow back the memories of my own home I once had. Behind that was a small smattering of identical looking houses. They were replicas of Second Generation houses in the Communities, though, instead of cinder block walls, it seemed to all be made of wood. I don’t think I have ever seen such a dwelling in all my life and here there were dozens of them.
CHAPTER SEVEN
AS SOON AS we entered the settlement we were contacted via our radio on their low range signal. Instructions were given to pull up to the assembly building where two other transports were parked. I supposed it was the entire stockpile of transportation for the whole settlement.
It had been a long journey, made even worse by the long stretch of silence, not to mention the still awkward tension between Jake and me. We all sighed a collective breath of relief as we all piled out and stretched our stiff bones.
“Welcome,” a waiting soldier said, first taking Jakes hand and then the unit supervisor who had piled out of the back of the transport. “I’m Greg Perkins, unit leader for this dispatch.”
I took a mental note to ask him later if he was hardware and supplies Perkins as introductions were made around the group.
“I’ve been detailed to give you a tour of the place. It won’t take long. It’s a lot of property, but not much up here besides the trees,” Greg began as he started to walk with our party at his heels.
I fell in line with Jessica who was looking around just as awestruck by it all as I was.
“This settlement has been successfully going strong for almost five years now,” he began to drone on. “My unit comprises twelve men who live here year around. There are about eighteen Fighters in all here at this time, not including your unit.”
“I’m sorry did you say five years?” Jake interrupted, saying what we were all thinking.
He may have had inclinations this was an established area from his mother, but I don’t think he could have even fathomed a Freedom Fighter outpost so old.
“Yes, this area was well-established even before the rebellion began and the Freedom Fighters were unified. This whole area along the northern mountains and up until it meets the east range is several hundred archers of dense forest spanning from its eastwardly starting point all the way to the western sea. Our area here was actually cleared by people before us. It seemed they stayed here and survived through the war and subsequent centuries out in the open.
“The original fortress was discovered by a local outskirt settlement. There was still a few people living inside at the time of discovery, but not many. Winters are harsh and food was scarce as you can imagine. How they kept themselves hidden from the Protectorate all those decades is a mystery. I suppose the Protectorate avoids the frost line just as much as the rest of us. This small pocket of life was all but invisible until the Outskirt group stumbled upon them.
“It was a small band that hid in these woods to begin with, is my understanding, adding to that the infertility plague that humanity faced and the need to stay in hiding from the Protectorate, they had less than a hundred left in their community when they were found. They lived in crude dwellings and spent most of their time between foraging, farming in the short warm season for hardy grains, and drying whatever game they could catch. The members that stumbled upon them helped a bit, but still, they were practically extinct when Rebels got wind of the community here.
“They were happy to join up with us. We were able to bring in supplies from the northern community, building sturdy housing and bringing in textiles and food. They quickly assimilated into the rebel cause, already having that tradition of opposing the Protectorate. When the rebels organized under Ursula, it honestly didn’t change much for us here.
“The main staple is the wood, obviously,” Greg continued his tour, waving his hand around a gallery of paintings in the assembly hall main room.
It showed various aspects of life in a long timeline. One was of workers in a mill processing the wood, another showed people out in the forest harvesting, while a last showed a carpenter forming a wooden mantle piece with a sizeable exposed-grain table behind him.
“Aren't you worried about it running out, though?” I asked, absorbing all the information.
“We are very responsible with our clearing. With the induction of the Freedom Fighters, we got access to a lot more information than before. No area is entirely cleared. Partly this is for our own protection. We don’t know if the Protectorate is aware of this dense forest area or not, but if they are, I’m sure a large square of cleared area would stick out like a sore thumb,” he added with a smile.
“I doubt they are. It wasn’t even on the list of areas I broadcasted. Not to mention if the Protectorate knew this was here, they would cut it all down,” I replied, thinking back to the sequoias again.
“Either way.” He half shrugged. “Selective clearing is better for the woods and the habitat it creates for the animals within. And of course, for every tree we fell we like to plant two more. Later I can take you to our greenhouse. It partly holds produce coming into the frigid months now, but give it six months, and we will have it filled with the year-old trees ready to plant and the new incoming sprouted saplings.”
There were so many questions running through my mind I didn’t even know where to begin. This place looked like a small miracle. I wanted to know if this occurred along the entire frostline running west to east across the nation. Did the first people actually survive the bio-war and live here? What were those creatures that they seemed to use for protein and how did they also survive? How had this little slice of heaven withstood the damage to the rest of the world and stayed free of radioactivity and bio-poisons? I didn’t know where to start.
I looked around at the others. They all had the same expression of awe and disbelief. Greg let us absorb it all in with a knowing smile. I guess this wasn’t the first time he had given someone the grand tour. I supposed Ursula had made her way up here at least once to, if nothing else, take in the vast revenue that spread acres in every direction.
This was a routine for him, showing people the lay of the land. I wondered if people were regulating coming here. It was a small settlement compared to a Protectorate Community, but really I had to guess they at least had a few thousand living here. How had they known to come and where did they come from? I supposed the outskirts for the most part, but then that didn’t really explain how everything was so reminiscent of a Community.
“And people from the Northwest Community started migrating over?” I asked, assuming that could be the only possible explanation for at least one of my questions. “How did they even know to?”
“At first it was just an outpost for the Fighters to stop at on their way to headquarters. So word just got around I guess.” He gave a shrug. “ The influx of people was pretty significant for a year or so before you announced similar areas. I can’t tell you how excited we all were here to learn that there were more spots just like this one. We knew we couldn’t be an anomaly. People who want to leave the Protectorate system but don’t want to or can’t fight, they can come here, or places like this instead. Most people just want to live their life but don’t agree with the Protectorate or worse have been given a menial existence thanks to it. They all flocked here. You would be surprised how many families, I mean parents, kids, grandkids, all will leave at once and join us,” Greg added as an afterthought.
“Families like the Perkins?” Jessica chimed in.
Greg gave her a relaxed smile. I guessed he was in his early forties by the smattering of grey in his otherwise brown hair. He was reasonably tall and commanding—which I was guessing had helped him secure his place as highest ranking official here. But there was a gentle ease about him. He lacked that tense, no-nonsense, military mentality that I saw in most soldiers.
“I moved my wife and daughter here three years ago. Not long after, my father and mother joined us. I’m guessing you saw the hardware store sign on your way in,” he said with a soft smile.
“My family were Second Generation owners of that hardware store in the Northwest for four generations. My eldest brother took over the shop in the Northwest when my father got to be too old. Father would be damned if he didn’t continue the tradition no matter where he lived, though,” he half said half chuckled. “I’m sure you understand,” he added towards Jessica.
She nodded in complete understanding. It made me wonder if despite their age difference of what I guessed was twenty years they somehow had known each other.
“Well, I had one more sibling, a sister, younger than me. Dad convinced her to open up a shop with the Perkins name here. You might actually know my sister,” Greg said to Jessica. “You said you’re Katrina's daughter, right? You look about Heidi’s age. You might have known each other in primary school.”
I smiled as I listened to Greg and Jessica continue on for a few more minutes before Greg went back to tour guide mode. Jessica did, in fact, know his sister. Despite only being acquaintances through school, it did still seem a bit relieving to have a connection to the people here.
It amazed me how well the Perkins and this settlement on a whole had made the change from the Community to this new forested oasis. They had seemed to make the transition from exclusive to inclusive without a hitch, welcoming all and treating each one as an equal no matter their previous label. I don’t know if that could have been honestly said for Ursula and the Freedom Fighter organization.
More than that, this place, despite being in what I would consider a frozen wasteland, emanated peace and prosperity. If they could do it in what seemed to be the harshest conditions, then maybe it would be possible with all of us.
CHAPTER EIGHT
IN LESS THAN a few hours, we had completed our tour of the area. The unit of Fighters had been assigned to their various duties, and we were left to settle into a small guest area in the main assembly hall building customarily used by newcomers.
It wasn’t much at all, but far better than sleeping on the ground or in the crude houses I had been expecting from our previous experiences. Instead, it was a large room, I would guess two-office size, with four walls, windows pointing out to the west, and nothing more. There was a row of metal bar cots with simple wool blankets for covering.
We knew little of such things in the Outskirts. Yes, we all knew the land was destroyed, hazardous to our health, and that poisonous storms tore through without warning. But beyond that, we had little concern about giving it names.
Looking out the transport now, I wondered if this area was truly safe. How could the frozen water clinging to the small shrubs and dirt not also contain the same radioactive contamination that I had suffered from all those years ago?
The closer we got to the settlement, the more snow there seemed to be. It went from sparse smatterings to completely blanketing the ground. I wondered how the transport was even driving as the drifts seemed to get deeper and deeper.
The magnetic system that kept the transport hovering over the earth somehow used the planet’s own magnetic current. I wondered at what point of snow level the distance between the two would become too great to hover over the ground. Jake didn’t share my concerns, apparently, as he continued forward without the slightest hesitation.
We reached the settlement just as the sun was reaching over the tips of the northern mountain range. I had never seen mountains completely covered in snow, even at a distance. We were still a good few miles from them, but even the thought of complete snow cover and the frostline not far from it made me tense in fear automatically.
Finally, the barren land slowly gave way to trees. It wasn’t like the other settlements we had visited thus far. Those were an oasis in the middle of nowhere. This was an entire line of a forest as far as the eye could see east and west. It was like a line that slowly started until the woods were so thick we couldn’t even see the northern mountains in the distance between them.
Jake worked to weave around the trees. There was no road making its way into wherever we were headed. I couldn’t believe that people could actually live up here in so much snow. It was a smooth blanket that covered not only the ground but every single branch of trees hanging over us.
How anyone could survive in this condition was beyond my understanding, let alone how someone could choose to leave a community for living here. I leaned closer to my window, pressing my forehead to the cold glass. The snow was almost entirely undisturbed. There had to be at least two feet of it on the ground, judging by the small dips that surrounded the tree bases.
Aside from falling branches puncturing the perfection of the white blanket, I noticed little drips out in the open. But not like scattered raindrops on the white clouds. They were rows of drips in two parallel paths. It had to be tracks.
Tracks of what? The education we received in the Communities told us that no animals had survived past the ones saved by the Protectorate and kept within Community walls. There was clear proof all around this forest of the contrary.
I thought back to the different animal pictures I had seen growing up in primary school. I was sure that not many cold-blooded creatures could survive in these conditions. If I remember right, that would only leave birds and mammals to leave the tracks.
Birds, of course, would fly, in my opinion. That led me to consider what kind of mammals could’ve survived. They were reasonably small tracks, so I hoped they were of non-threatening creatures like the rodents and not the massive bears and lions.
We hadn’t gone too far into the thickening tree line when we came upon the small settlement. The land had been cleared and snow banked up around it with a single way for the transport. They must have used the trees to create the eight-foot wall that confronted us. A part of me ached for the trees. Yes, they were clearly plentiful here, but I had grown up my whole life seeing trees and wood—outside of the fast-growing bamboo—as a precious treasure. Here they had been hewn down by the hundreds and made into a primitive log-and-mud fortress.
There was one door, and I could see on top of the wall a few men walking the perimeter. I guessed it was the few Fighters sent to protect this small settlement from Defective attacks.
Now seeing the place, I believed Theo’s assumption that Defectives would never move up this far north. I had only seen them once around the Northwest Community because they never traveled so far up in the country and away from the plenty surrounding the four inner Communities.
I wondered if perhaps cold was a weakness of theirs—and mine, I supposed—or if they were just smart enough not to go somewhere they could freeze or die of radioactive snow.
“Is the snow alright?” I asked Jake, breaking the silence. I doubted he would know any better than I would.
“I guess,” he shrugged, suggesting his guess was as good as mine. “Mom said this place has been here a while and they are all alright so it should be good,” he added quickly.
They had cleared the snow back away from the fortress as well as a roadway leading up to the main entrance. I was surprised that it was a hard-packed dirt road and not at all the muddy, sloshy mess I would have expected with all this moisture around. I guess that meant the weather was pretty cold for the ground to be frozen solid consistently.
They anticipated our arrival, I supposed. We didn’t even have to wait outside the wall. The doors were already opened by the time we arrived. They were two large wood things that took several men to push. It was just large enough for our transport to make it through.
Inside it was much larger than I expected. Or perhaps it just looked large because it was almost completely empty. With the open exposed nature of this settlement, there was what looked like land cleared for farming, but as of right now it was vacant. Instead of growing produce, there were more logs laid out in various stages of processing.
Next to the fields was a large farm shed with its double doors open. Inside I could see people working, with every inch of them bundled except their faces. Little puffs of frost floated from their mouths as they were cutting, sawing, and working the wood.
Part of me wanted to tell them to stop. Yes, the forest around here looked dense and healthy. Some of the trees were so thick around I didn’t think two people could wrap their arms around them, but still, it had to be a limited supply.
I thought of the Capitol building inside the Northwest Community. I had only been in there a few times with Charles and as a child on a school trip. The assembly hall had been line with decorative wood paneling from what we had thought was the last of the sequoias. Such a waste in my eyes. To use the very last simply to show power and extravagance. Was history repeating itself now? Would they use up all these trees like the Protectorate had once thought it had done before them?
This settlement seemed to mirror a Protectorate Community almost perfectly. First coming in there were the fields and the wood, I guessed to give them close access to deporting goods. Soon it gave way to little shops. I would have guessed five at the most. There was a small market of food, including colorful fresh produce, and strung by its back legs was what I assumed made the tracks in the snow.
Other shops included a small stand with bolts of sturdy fabrics in neutral colors. A woman sat in the large window, hand-sewing a piece. Next to it was a shop that said “Perkins Hardware and Supplies.” I couldn’t believe that this little settlement with so few people was not only entirely surrounded by a completed wall but had family-owned shops. How long had these people been living in the open?
Beyond the shops was a commons area with its own small assembly hall building labeled as such. It made me swallow back the memories of my own home I once had. Behind that was a small smattering of identical looking houses. They were replicas of Second Generation houses in the Communities, though, instead of cinder block walls, it seemed to all be made of wood. I don’t think I have ever seen such a dwelling in all my life and here there were dozens of them.
CHAPTER SEVEN
AS SOON AS we entered the settlement we were contacted via our radio on their low range signal. Instructions were given to pull up to the assembly building where two other transports were parked. I supposed it was the entire stockpile of transportation for the whole settlement.
It had been a long journey, made even worse by the long stretch of silence, not to mention the still awkward tension between Jake and me. We all sighed a collective breath of relief as we all piled out and stretched our stiff bones.
“Welcome,” a waiting soldier said, first taking Jakes hand and then the unit supervisor who had piled out of the back of the transport. “I’m Greg Perkins, unit leader for this dispatch.”
I took a mental note to ask him later if he was hardware and supplies Perkins as introductions were made around the group.
“I’ve been detailed to give you a tour of the place. It won’t take long. It’s a lot of property, but not much up here besides the trees,” Greg began as he started to walk with our party at his heels.
I fell in line with Jessica who was looking around just as awestruck by it all as I was.
“This settlement has been successfully going strong for almost five years now,” he began to drone on. “My unit comprises twelve men who live here year around. There are about eighteen Fighters in all here at this time, not including your unit.”
“I’m sorry did you say five years?” Jake interrupted, saying what we were all thinking.
He may have had inclinations this was an established area from his mother, but I don’t think he could have even fathomed a Freedom Fighter outpost so old.
“Yes, this area was well-established even before the rebellion began and the Freedom Fighters were unified. This whole area along the northern mountains and up until it meets the east range is several hundred archers of dense forest spanning from its eastwardly starting point all the way to the western sea. Our area here was actually cleared by people before us. It seemed they stayed here and survived through the war and subsequent centuries out in the open.
“The original fortress was discovered by a local outskirt settlement. There was still a few people living inside at the time of discovery, but not many. Winters are harsh and food was scarce as you can imagine. How they kept themselves hidden from the Protectorate all those decades is a mystery. I suppose the Protectorate avoids the frost line just as much as the rest of us. This small pocket of life was all but invisible until the Outskirt group stumbled upon them.
“It was a small band that hid in these woods to begin with, is my understanding, adding to that the infertility plague that humanity faced and the need to stay in hiding from the Protectorate, they had less than a hundred left in their community when they were found. They lived in crude dwellings and spent most of their time between foraging, farming in the short warm season for hardy grains, and drying whatever game they could catch. The members that stumbled upon them helped a bit, but still, they were practically extinct when Rebels got wind of the community here.
“They were happy to join up with us. We were able to bring in supplies from the northern community, building sturdy housing and bringing in textiles and food. They quickly assimilated into the rebel cause, already having that tradition of opposing the Protectorate. When the rebels organized under Ursula, it honestly didn’t change much for us here.
“The main staple is the wood, obviously,” Greg continued his tour, waving his hand around a gallery of paintings in the assembly hall main room.
It showed various aspects of life in a long timeline. One was of workers in a mill processing the wood, another showed people out in the forest harvesting, while a last showed a carpenter forming a wooden mantle piece with a sizeable exposed-grain table behind him.
“Aren't you worried about it running out, though?” I asked, absorbing all the information.
“We are very responsible with our clearing. With the induction of the Freedom Fighters, we got access to a lot more information than before. No area is entirely cleared. Partly this is for our own protection. We don’t know if the Protectorate is aware of this dense forest area or not, but if they are, I’m sure a large square of cleared area would stick out like a sore thumb,” he added with a smile.
“I doubt they are. It wasn’t even on the list of areas I broadcasted. Not to mention if the Protectorate knew this was here, they would cut it all down,” I replied, thinking back to the sequoias again.
“Either way.” He half shrugged. “Selective clearing is better for the woods and the habitat it creates for the animals within. And of course, for every tree we fell we like to plant two more. Later I can take you to our greenhouse. It partly holds produce coming into the frigid months now, but give it six months, and we will have it filled with the year-old trees ready to plant and the new incoming sprouted saplings.”
There were so many questions running through my mind I didn’t even know where to begin. This place looked like a small miracle. I wanted to know if this occurred along the entire frostline running west to east across the nation. Did the first people actually survive the bio-war and live here? What were those creatures that they seemed to use for protein and how did they also survive? How had this little slice of heaven withstood the damage to the rest of the world and stayed free of radioactivity and bio-poisons? I didn’t know where to start.
I looked around at the others. They all had the same expression of awe and disbelief. Greg let us absorb it all in with a knowing smile. I guess this wasn’t the first time he had given someone the grand tour. I supposed Ursula had made her way up here at least once to, if nothing else, take in the vast revenue that spread acres in every direction.
This was a routine for him, showing people the lay of the land. I wondered if people were regulating coming here. It was a small settlement compared to a Protectorate Community, but really I had to guess they at least had a few thousand living here. How had they known to come and where did they come from? I supposed the outskirts for the most part, but then that didn’t really explain how everything was so reminiscent of a Community.
“And people from the Northwest Community started migrating over?” I asked, assuming that could be the only possible explanation for at least one of my questions. “How did they even know to?”
“At first it was just an outpost for the Fighters to stop at on their way to headquarters. So word just got around I guess.” He gave a shrug. “ The influx of people was pretty significant for a year or so before you announced similar areas. I can’t tell you how excited we all were here to learn that there were more spots just like this one. We knew we couldn’t be an anomaly. People who want to leave the Protectorate system but don’t want to or can’t fight, they can come here, or places like this instead. Most people just want to live their life but don’t agree with the Protectorate or worse have been given a menial existence thanks to it. They all flocked here. You would be surprised how many families, I mean parents, kids, grandkids, all will leave at once and join us,” Greg added as an afterthought.
“Families like the Perkins?” Jessica chimed in.
Greg gave her a relaxed smile. I guessed he was in his early forties by the smattering of grey in his otherwise brown hair. He was reasonably tall and commanding—which I was guessing had helped him secure his place as highest ranking official here. But there was a gentle ease about him. He lacked that tense, no-nonsense, military mentality that I saw in most soldiers.
“I moved my wife and daughter here three years ago. Not long after, my father and mother joined us. I’m guessing you saw the hardware store sign on your way in,” he said with a soft smile.
“My family were Second Generation owners of that hardware store in the Northwest for four generations. My eldest brother took over the shop in the Northwest when my father got to be too old. Father would be damned if he didn’t continue the tradition no matter where he lived, though,” he half said half chuckled. “I’m sure you understand,” he added towards Jessica.
She nodded in complete understanding. It made me wonder if despite their age difference of what I guessed was twenty years they somehow had known each other.
“Well, I had one more sibling, a sister, younger than me. Dad convinced her to open up a shop with the Perkins name here. You might actually know my sister,” Greg said to Jessica. “You said you’re Katrina's daughter, right? You look about Heidi’s age. You might have known each other in primary school.”
I smiled as I listened to Greg and Jessica continue on for a few more minutes before Greg went back to tour guide mode. Jessica did, in fact, know his sister. Despite only being acquaintances through school, it did still seem a bit relieving to have a connection to the people here.
It amazed me how well the Perkins and this settlement on a whole had made the change from the Community to this new forested oasis. They had seemed to make the transition from exclusive to inclusive without a hitch, welcoming all and treating each one as an equal no matter their previous label. I don’t know if that could have been honestly said for Ursula and the Freedom Fighter organization.
More than that, this place, despite being in what I would consider a frozen wasteland, emanated peace and prosperity. If they could do it in what seemed to be the harshest conditions, then maybe it would be possible with all of us.
CHAPTER EIGHT
IN LESS THAN a few hours, we had completed our tour of the area. The unit of Fighters had been assigned to their various duties, and we were left to settle into a small guest area in the main assembly hall building customarily used by newcomers.
It wasn’t much at all, but far better than sleeping on the ground or in the crude houses I had been expecting from our previous experiences. Instead, it was a large room, I would guess two-office size, with four walls, windows pointing out to the west, and nothing more. There was a row of metal bar cots with simple wool blankets for covering.
