Holding Their Own XI: Hearts and Minds (6 page)

She wondered how many of history’s great leaders had benefited from such a trustworthy circles of advisors.
Probably all of them
, she decided.

Bishop had been there when the monthly report estimating the death toll in Alliance territory had arrived. While outright famine no longer racked the population, disease and illness associated with years of malnutrition were still reaping thousands of souls every month. There simply weren’t enough doctors or medicine to go around. Diana had been devastated by the document’s projection that another 40,000 had perished, a large majority of which were children under the age of ten years.

She had wept on Bishop’s shoulder for over half an hour, confident he wouldn’t judge her too weak or inadequate to lead the Alliance.

And then there was the anniversary of her adopted son’s death. A horrible day that she dreaded every time it rolled around on the calendar. Atlas had died with honor, saving her church and its flock from being overrun, but that made little difference to the grieving mother who could still feel the warmth of his blood on her hands.

It wasn’t always sorrow or grief. Anger was a constant companion to those who lead the recovery. On the day after reading about sick, dying children, Diana was informed of a man-made tragedy that had occurred just outside of Huntsville.

When the lights had gone out for the last time, it was estimated Texas had over 120,000 inmates in her jails and prisons. Many had starved, locked in the cells without food or water. Tens of thousands more had escaped, turned loose on a society that couldn’t dial 9-1-1.

Atlas had died fighting just such a gang of thugs.

Many of the criminals were violent, sick individuals who had been locked away to protect the innocent. Now, many of them were still on the loose. The downfall of society had set law enforcement’s efforts back decades. Seasoned felons left to their own devices, coupled with seriously limited resources to corral them often led to more lawbreaking than the general population liked.

On the day in question, Sheriff Watts brought the heartbreaking news of a large family having been found dead in their home. They had suffered badly before being murdered. Deputies had eventually tracked down the culprit, a serial killer who’d escaped during the collapse. He’d been marauding through the central Texas countryside ever since.

Then there was the political strife. While the council’s directives had been successful, all five of the mandated priorities were being challenged by one unavoidable circumstance – how to manage the ownership of physical property.

The incident at Ocean Towers in Corpus had made the headlines for days, sending a wave of apprehension throughout the territories. If wealthy men with resources couldn’t safely invest in Texas, how could the recovery possibly continue?

Texas had suffered over 15 million dead, or roughly half of the population. Those causalities had left behind unclaimed businesses, farms, homes, and other assets. Who owned them? How were they to be disbursed? Should the government keep them? What about the banks that held the mortgages… what if those institutions reopened? The Alliance would need banking if the economy were to grow and prosper. Free enterprise was already demanding to take its rightful place as a leading role in society. Everyone on the council knew that centralized planning would only jumpstart a stalled system. It was time to get out of the way and let the engine of capitalism run free.

Bishop, however, had strongly disagreed when the time came for the council to vote. “We’re not far enough along, in my humble opinion,” he stated after reviewing the latest proposal addressing property ownership. “The Alliance hasn’t established itself well enough just yet. There’s no shortage of problems to address across the land. Give it some more time before you take this one on.”

Unlike so many surrounding Diana’s office, Bishop didn’t pout or become angry when she disagreed. After informing him that he was dead wrong and the issue was now the most critical on their agenda, he had simply shrugged and smiled. “That’s why you make the big bucks, and I carry a rifle,” he’d grinned. A minute later is was if the debate had never taken place.

Normally, she could face the never-ending string of challenges and deal with the death and violence. Political unrest, outside threats, and the usual internal turmoil were all in a day’s work for Diana.

But not with Nick’s life on the line, her future husband’s mental well-being still in question after such serious injuries. Not without Terri being there. Not with Kevin still mending from what had been a terrible ordeal of torture and abuse in New Mexico.

On top of it all, the ramifications of the council’s latest decisions and policies were far reaching. If they got it wrong, the outcome could lead to another collapse and chaos. The future quality of life for the survivors was at stake. The stress was nearly incapacitating, stretching her, and all of the leadership, to the limit. 

Bishop had come to the rescue, offering a level head, kind smile, and unwavering support. Beyond all that… more important than anything else… was the trust shared between them. She would never forget his support during the last few weeks.

Glancing over at her driver, Diana wondered why she was so amazed by such a simple thing as his friendship. Hadn’t Bishop always delivered? How many times had he saved the upstart movement? She’d lost count.

It finally dawned on her. Bishop had always used his rifle, or combat skills, or bravery to save the day. She wondered if he knew how important this latest bout of heroism had been.

Probably not
, she decided.
No one was shooting at him. It must have seemed like a vacation.
  

Cameron James Lewis pushed away from his desk and turned to the window.

As usual, the unremarkable Oklahoma countryside served as a reminder, the image having fueled his efforts and focused his energies on what had become life’s only meaningful objective – returning to Texas.

They called themselves the Alliance now. He called them murdering, thieving bandits. Barbarians from the West.

Months had passed since that fateful day when his security forces had been attacked. He’d watched as his men fell by the dozens, hundreds of Philistines storming the gates and destroying everything he’d done to help the people of Midland Station survive the downfall. The jealous traitors of his hometown had turned on him… every man, woman, and child.
Revenge is sweet, my friends,
Lewis mused.
When I return triumphant, I will line the streets with your lifeless, disloyal bodies hanging by the noose.

A homegrown army of irregulars had encircled his corporate headquarters, and only a mad, scrambling evacuation via rooftop helicopter had saved his life. It was all as fresh in his mind as if it had occurred just a few hours ago.

As the emergency flight had lifted off, Cameron could still see the hundreds of dead and dying employees lying in a street that was named in honor of his father. Horror filled his soul as the hordes from the west poured into the office building that bore his family’s crest.

The copter pilot had deposited him here, a remote exploration facility deep in the middle of nowhere. And here he’d stayed, revenge simmering in his core as he began working to rebuild the empire of his father’s dreams.

It had been difficult, the vast majority of the corporation’s assets falling into the Alliance’s hands. He’d been forced to do little more than watch and stew as the only working refinery in Texas had enabled the thieves’ expansion all across the Lone Star State.
His
refinery.
His
engineers.
His
town.
His
family’s oil fueling the recovery.

At first, Cameron had considered a counter-attack using force. He still had dozens of steadfast, armed men at his disposal. That option, however, was quickly ruled out. There were too many of the thugs, and their dominance was spreading like wildfire all across Texas.

He’d ventured to Oklahoma City, hoping to solicit help from the federal authorities. He’d found the state capital in absolute anarchy. There was no government there, state or national. Only roving gangs fighting each other for territory and what few assets they could scavenge.

So he, along with the staff at the facility, had waited, plotted, and improved their situation as circumstances allowed.

Their big opportunity had arrived via Washington. The U.S. desperately needed petroleum, or more specifically gasoline, diesel, and natural gas. An emissary from the president’s office had driven up one day, sent on a fact-finding mission from the nation’s struggling capital. The federal representative had spent the entire morning talking with the former executive. Cameron knew the petrol business, was well aware of certain regional facilities and capabilities, and seemed eager to help kickstart the nation’s recovery.

Natural gas had been the first priority. With Cameron’s skills and confidence, the Department of Energy had given him more and more authority and responsibility as the months passed. Progress was slow, but over time he’d begun to deliver badly needed energy to the military and key civilian users. It was a drop in the bucket compared to what the deprived nation needed, but every little bit counted.

With prominence came power and control. Slowly, he gathered a war chest of men, equipment, and most importantly, knowledge.

There had been setbacks. When news came that Washington was pulling the U.S. Army out of Texas, Cameron had been discouraged. Rumors of the Alliance slowly restoring electrical power to the state’s larger metropolitan areas had further darkened his mood for weeks. There had been periods where it seemed that returning home was nothing more than a distant, fading dream.

Now, that had all changed.

Turning back to the two men seated in front of his desk, Cameron found himself needing confirmation of what he’d just heard. “Are you sure of this? Absolutely certain?”

“Yes, sir,” answered the older of the two. “The Alliance’s council made the decision just a short time ago. Our sources are confident this new program will be initiated in the next 10 days.”

“It’s also part of the public record,” the other visitor stated. “The meeting minutes of the last four council sessions all contain numerous discussions about the ownership of private property and how the situation is growing critical. Diana Brown even stated that it was the Alliance’s single largest issue, now more important than the five directives.”

Cameron’s eyes darted between the two men, waiting for more. His visitors were happy to expand.

“They’ve hit a wall,” continued the first, “They’re trying to restart the banking system, industrial production, and service based industries. But no one has paid on a mortgage since the collapse. Over half of the debtors are dead or missing, another significant portion of the population is sick or not working. Most of their economy is barter, and they just started collecting minimal taxes.”

“They have hundreds of thousands that are homeless, many living in tent cities and working the fields by hand. Houston alone has armies of transient workers, bussed in to clean up the half of the city that burned. Yet, one estimate presented to the council claimed that 40% of the homes left standing were empty. The problem is, what do you do with them? Who owns them? Where are the owners? Which bank holds the note? It’s a huge mess.”

One of the visitors chuckled, “I heard a story about a farm equipment dealership outside Brownsville. There were hundreds of new tractors, just sitting on the lot gathering dust. The owner and his family were all dead. The entire inventory had been there for months and months, half of the tires were flat, or so the story goes. Anyway, along came the Alliance… and they needed transportation. They were trying to organize work crews to plant fields, and they had a limited supply of gasoline. So they started taking the implements and using them. Two months ago, a woman showed up and claimed she’s the owner’s daughter… says she deserves to be compensated for all the missing vehicles. She told a great story about being trapped in New Orleans ever since the collapse. Had an ID with the same last name as the owner of record. Presented a yearbook from the local high school with her picture. The Alliance paid her off, only to find out a short time later that there never were any daughters – only three sons. They still haven’t found her or their money.”

“That’s not even taking into account the fiasco at Ocean Towers,” added the other.

Cameron grunted and then rubbed his chin, imagining the dilemma facing the Alliance leadership. “So they’re going to set a time limit? They’re going to give people a window to make claims. Anything that’s left over will be divided between the government and the banks. That’s not a bad idea.”

“No,” responded one of the visitors. “There’s really no other way to go about it. Records, computer servers, files, and even entire courthouses have burned, been ransacked, or are just missing. If you’re a survivor, you’ll be able to file claims for all of the assets, property, resources, and facilities owned before it all went to hell. Of course, stocks, bonds, and other investments will be dealt with later.”