The Directives (32 page)

Bishop sighed, unsure how deep to delve into the topic. “I’m not sure where the Alliance will come down on the issue. My gut says government should stay out of it unless people are being physically harmed or enslaved. There’s probably some interference warranted where children are concerned as well. As long as a man or woman can walk away from a bad situation, they will. But the people will ultimately decide what their leaders do. That’s not our place or our mission today.”

Grim spoke up, seemingl
y more comfortable discussing something he could control. “So we work here for a few days, get a ride on the train, and then what?”

“We report back to the council with what we find. They can decide what to do with the information.”

“At least we won’t be chopping wood,” the ex-contractor noted. “I was worried there for a minute, though. I thought Godzilla was going to pound your ass.”

Bishop grunted, rubbing his sore hip at the memory. “He
was
a big ol’ boy. I’m sure
you
could have taken care of business without any drama.”

Grim brushed the air with a dismissive gesture, “That’s why I keep you around, Captain. To handle my light work.”

After a chuckle went around the campfire, Bishop became serious again. Focusing on Kevin, he said, “One of these days, you’re going to be part of the leadership. You’ll have to make decisions that influence people’s lives. I want to tell you… from my perspective… from what I lived through, that the less government is depended on, the better. The less it is involved in people’s lives, the better off we’ll be as a society. Yes, you have to help people who are down and out, but other than that, leave them to their own devices. The more I think about it, the more I blame the collapse on our illustrious leadership and political system and their constant interference and meddling in our lives. If
your
generation learns any lesson from this mess
my
generation made of the world, I hope that’s it.”

Kevin seemed sincere, but confused. “Why, sir? I’m not sure I understand the connection between the gover
nment’s role and the apocalypse.”

“Washington tried to make it too easy on people, Kevin,” Bishop replied. “They tried to fix everything, make everything right and just. They tried to make life easier for the people who voted for them, and that ended up being a huge mistake. Human beings aren’t meant to have an easy path. That’s not how we’re designed. We need to struggle, fight, have setbacks, and suffer consequences. When everything went to hell, the vast majority of the population wasn’t ready for their support system to simply vanish. They couldn’t handle it, and that made things tumble downhill far faster than they should have
otherwise.”

“Do you really believe the fall was due to the people being soft and pampered?” Cory asked.

“For sure, it worsened the effects of the economic collapse,” Bishop nodded. “I knew my grandparents well. They survived the First Great Depression because they were able to take care of themselves. If my generation had shared some of their skills, we would’ve hardly noticed the grid going down. Empty grocery store shelves? My grandparents wouldn’t have cared. No fuel? A minor inconvenience at worst. They were self-reliant because they had learned the hard way that they couldn’t count on anybody to bail them out. Not the government, not their neighbors, not the church, not anybody. If even half the country had been like them, this last collapse would’ve been nothing but a minor note in the history books.”

It was Kevin’s t
urn to stare into the flames for a moment. “I get it, Captain. You’re saying the government trying to make everything better for everyone spoiled them... made them soft and weak. I understand now.”

Grim reached over and gave Bishop’s shoulder a friendly shove, “See! The kid didn’t even see you fight today, and yet he still knows you’re soft.”

Galveston Island, 50 miles southeast
of Houston, had a history of survival and adaption. The first permanent European settlement on the barrier landmass had been constructed by pirates, with Jean Lafitte operating his own little seaside kingdom, called Campeche, for almost four years. He declared himself “head of government,” and stayed until the US Navy provided an eviction notice: Leave or be destroyed. He left.

Throughout most of the 1800s,
the city of Galveston had been the commercial center of Texas. A natural port with good protection and easy access to the Gulf of Mexico, the city had once rivaled New Orleans in exports of cotton and sugar cane.

As it expanded and prospered, a rich, often-colorful history of growth and culture emerged from the coastal community. All of that changed in 1900 when the most deadly natural disaster in
US history struck the bustling city.

On September 8, a massive hurricane took aim at the island, killing up to 12,000 people by some estimates. The sustained winds of over 125 miles per hour would have been bad enough, but a 15-foot storm surge is credited with doing most of the damage. Practically the entire island was submerged in churning, angry waves of seawater.

But the community didn’t just fade away.

By the 1930s, Galveston was again a toddling town, even though it would never regain its former luster. Prohibition meant little to the local islanders as speakeasies, gin joints, and prostitution virtually ran unchecked. The berg became known as the sin city of the gulf, with a thriving subculture of depravity that would have made Lafitte blush. 

Hunter’s cry interrupted Terri from the study of her destination’s history. Folding the book she’d been exploring, she reached into the nearby playpen, lifting her son with a grunt and then sniffing his diaper. “No problem there,” she smiled, “Are you hungry? Again?”

Betty appeared from the back of the motorhome, moving to help mother with child. “It’s okay,” Terri said, “I think he just wants me to hold him for a
while. He’s been lying there watching me study, and I think he wants to help. He loves to try to turn the pages.”

“Are you still reading up on Galveston?” Betty asked.

“Yes. What an… ummm… intriguing history they have there. When Bishop and I lived in Houston, we drove down on the weekend a couple of times to walk the beach or to simply have some place different to go. I never knew much about its checkered past though.”

Casting a knowin
g look, Betty responded, “My mother was from Galveston. She’s told me some incredibly sordid stories about some of the shenanigans that went on down there. I wonder how all those beach bums managed the collapse?”

Shifting Hunter to her other arm, Terri pulled a stack of papers from the
table. The top page was labeled “US Army Intelligence Briefing, Galveston County, Texas.”

After showing her friend and helper the title, Terri stated, “According to this report, the residents have actually fared better than almost anywhere else in the state. They have a consistent food supply from the ocean, mild weather and little social unrest.”

“Really? I guess that makes sense.”

“Yup. The other interesting thing the Army discovered was a
market, which from its description, is bigger than Meraton’s. One officer claimed it was over four square blocks in size, offering a variety of goods and services.”

“Wow,” B
etty said, “sounds like what they have organized is practically a mini-mall. I wonder if they still sell those cute little seashell rings. I had one when I was a little girl.”

A knock on the door sounded before Terri could speculate. “Come in,” she called, shifting H
unter back to his favorite knee and freeing up her pistol hand.

Slim opened the door, the ever-polite bodyguard removing his hat. “Ma’am, we’re ready to head to Galveston. I’ve interviewed three different military types who’ve been there. I’m still a little uncertain about this. I wish you’d take the general up on his offer to provide additional escorts.”

Terri passed Hunter to Betty and then stood. Slim, catching the look in his boss’s eyes, looked down, sure he was about to be scolded.

“Slim,” Terri began softly, “I want to check out Galveston without anyone knowing who I am. I want an honest, unbiased look at the market, island, and community. If we go rolling in there with a column of military armor, tanks, battleships and attack helicopters, someone is going to notice and start asking questions.”

“Yes, ma’am, I know but…”

Terri cut him off, “Everyone I’ve spoken with says there is order and calm on the island. Do you have information that contradicts that?”

“No ma’am, it’s just that…”

“And Bishop and his team are supposed to meet us there as well. So there’s even more Alliance protection for our side, right?”

“I know all that Miss Terri, but I’m still concerned. At least give Butter and me a day to go down there and scout around. We’re going in blind, ma’am, with information that is several months old. There’s only one way on and off that island, and I would feel better if at least we knew what we were getting into. Please, ma’am. I’m only asking for a day.”

Terri had never seen Slim quite so nervous or stubborn. She turned and paced a few steps, finally reaching a decision. “Okay. Butter and you take what you need and go check it out. It’s only an hour away. We can leave first thing in the morning once you guys verify it’s safe. How’s that for a compromise?”

Slim actually smiled, the man’s relief evident. “Thank you, ma’am. We’ll be leaving right away. I’ll inform the base security that you’re not to be disturbed for the rest of the afternoon.”

After he left, Terri peered at Betty and sighed. “You’d think we lived in some sort of post-apocalyptic world, wouldn’t ya?”

Betty smiled knowingly, “They respect you. They take their jobs seriously, and I’m glad they do. You did the right thing by letting them scout ahead.”

“They wouldn’t allow
me to do anything if it were up to them. Our roles are in constant conflict.”

“You’re winning, Terri. Don’t forget that… you’re winning.”

Grim and Bishop arrived at the anointed hour, both men strolling into the railroad’s security compound five minutes early. Exactly at 6 a.m., they were standing in front of Major Misery’s table.

“We run between here and Galveston. The trip takes almost eight hours each way. The train leaves one hour after daybreak. We make several stops along the way to pick up passengers. Over the last six months, we’ve had an increasing number of attempted robberies. The bandits are extremely clever, hitting the train using a variety of methods. Sometimes they block the track and attack in a remote, wooded area; sometimes they hit us at the towns where we stop. I’ve seen them try two days in a row, and other times a week or more will pass before they make an attempt. Any questions so far?”

Bishop was fascinated with the situation and couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “So with all of the security men you have around here, I’m kind of surprised you’re having any issue at all. Are there that many train robbers in this part of the country?”

Misery grunted, his condescending tone indicative of what he obviously considered a stupid question. “If we load the cars with my men, then we can easily fight them off. But they won’t hit us if the train is full of rifles, even if we try to disguise our presence. We believe they have observers and some form of long-range communications. They watch the loading here and then report how heavily guarded we are.”