Collapse Page 13

  The day darkened into an almost-twilight. Rain poured down. In the lightning, Taylor saw sheets of water running down the glistening clay on the flanks of the Hill. Now we're safe. The Hill's slopes will be too slippery, even for a troop carrier.

  #

  The rain stopped and the air was sharply colder with a crystalline clarity. The Diablos fired from time to time from the riverbank near the base of the Hill's cliff.

  "Have some sharp-shooters give those Diablos a taste of their own medicine." Taylor pointed to the men by river. "Phelps, bring up those drums of gasoline." He indicated the path leading down the steep slope to the main entrance. "If the troop carrier tries to cross the ditch, it’s gonna get a warm welcome." He forced a smile. He didn't feel like smiling.

  Franny came running. "Taylor," she called. "They're moving on the main entrance.”

  "What're they doing?" Taylor strode to the lookout point.

  "They're bringing up trucks loaded with rock." She trotted alongside him.

  One by one, the team leaders joined him as he viewed the situation. "Wait for them, make them come to us.”

  The walkie-talkie squawked. "It's Patterson Rice," Chris said. "He says that he can see some Devil's Deacons in the vicinity of the Nature Center. But they're not moving.”

  "Tell him to wait for the signal," Taylor said. "I want the Diablos to commit themselves before we do anything."

  "Sure." Chris reached for the walkie-talkie.

  "Where's O'Connor and the horsemen?" Taylor had no real need to know but he was nervous. "Tell him to get ready."

  "Sure thing."

  A cloud of blue exhaust smoke rose as the Diablos' trucks lined up with the troop carrier at the rear.

  "Chris, have Rice take a shot at the troop carrier."

  "He wants to know why so soon."

  "Just tell him to damn-well do it."

  The bolt from the crossbow seemed to float in a lazy arc across the width of the valley. It struck the Troop carrier with a bright flash, followed by a puff of white smoke. A clump of Diablos went down like wet wheat before the wind. A boom echoed through the valley.

  "Good shot." Taylor said.

  "Lookout," a voice screamed.

  Before the bang-bang of the Troop carrier’s gun reached them, branches shredded around them. As one, the group on the point dropped, some moaning. Blood flowed. The troop carrier turned its cannon again, but its gun did not fire.

  Taylor grabbed the walkie-talkie from Chris's hand, "Rice. Hit them now," he yelled into the mouthpiece. "They don't know where your shot came from. They're about to shoot at us again.”

  Another explosive bolt hit the back of the troop carrier; its cannon remained silent. The Diablos' trucks backed up to the old riverbed and dumped fill into the water across from the main entrance. Even after the last truck dumped its load, the waterway was only partially filled. The troop carrier advanced to the edge of the water and from behind the trucks, Diablos emerged in a ragged line and started to wade across the waterway.

  Taylor rubbed his head. "I don't believe it, a human wave attack. Chris," he yelled. "Let ‘em roll."

  One after another, three drums filled with gasoline bounced down the hill. The drums came to a halt at the base of the dirt embankment near the front entrance. The leading edge of the Diablos emerged from water and climbed the embankment by the entrance, firing continuously.

  "Now," Taylor yelled.

  A crossbow bolt streaked down the hill and struck a drum filled with gasoline.

  A ball of fire erupted with tongues of flame shooting out in all directions. A huge cloud of black smoke rose. Another dull boom accompanied a fireball that climbed high into the air. Even from the top of the hill, Taylor could feel its heat. Another explosion blew a sheet of flame across the moat's water. As the flames subsided, blackened figures crawled out of the water. A few struggled on board the truck that had backed up to the water's edge. The troop carrier's engine roared and it backed away.

  "Rice," Taylor yelled into the walkie-talkie.

  "Yes?" Rice answered. His voice was tentative.

  "Start the counter-attack, now. We got 'em. We fried 'em. They're running. Push them west, push them up Cedar Point Road." Taylor began to hope for victory. "Do it now."

  "Wilco," Rice answered.

  #

  An explosion rocked the troop carrier. "Madre de Dios," Blade said. A wave of flame engulfed his machine and it hesitated briefly. He checked its instruments for malfunction, then crammed it into reverse. He headed back to the entrance from which he had come, followed by a truck laden with his men.

  "This whole thing has gone wrong, very wrong," Blade said to himself as he drove. "These Clan people have artillery, they ambush me. This is not supposed to happen to me. I am Armando Diaz Velasquez, the Blade, the one who deals out death, not these worms." He drove north on the Park road.

  Blade slammed on the brakes and screeched to a halt. The fill in the ditch over which he’d made his initial assault was gone. It was now a stream, full to its banks with brown, raging water. What happened?

  He turned the Troop carrier around and headed back. Several Deacons waved to him but he kept going. Let those smelly pigs rot in hell, he thought.

  As he entered Cedar Point Road, the troop carrier's metal structure rang like a bell as something crashed into the armored car's side and exploded. He remembered there was another way out of the Park, up the hillside out of the valley. He turned west on Cedar Point Road and accelerated through the opening in the concrete blocks of the barricade.

  #

  Buried beneath the center of the road, within a thick, reinforced concrete casing was five pounds of smokeless powder carefully sealed in a section of a thick-walled four-inch diameter steel pipe. Its only opening was at the top. Above it was a thirty-gallon drum filled with polystyrene-jellied gasoline.

  The weight of the troop carrier compressed a truck spring used as an electrical switch. Current flowed to a solenoid that snapped a steel pin briskly into a shotgun shell at the bottom of the steel tube. The shell coughed a small tongue of fire into the smokeless powder. It exploded.

  Constrained by its steel and concrete corset, the explosion front went upward, the shock wave atomizing the jellied gasoline and accelerating it.

  A gigantic blowtorch of flame engulfed Blade's vehicle and threw it high into the air. The troop carrier landed on its side, rupturing its fuel tank. The fuel burst into flames and sent a large cloud of black smoke into the cool, clean air.

  #

  Bryan Ferris heard the explosion and smiled. He knew what had happened. He never imagined his electrician’s training would come to this.

  #

  Taylor stared at the rows of laid out bodies. Corbach, Whiteside and Coughlin--I barely know their names--and now they're dead. Around him lay the bodies of men and women whose faces he knew but whose names he couldn't recall. Butchery, he thought.

  Why? Why? And Clayton--quiet competent Clayton. In just the short time I knew him, I thought that I'd found someone to help me lead. They came here to be safe and now they're dead. For what? Food and a place to stay? Some those that I sent out to fight didn’t know how. Is this what I've come to? A bringer of death and destruction?

  Fifty-five dead, out of the one hundred and forty men and women who had fought for the Hill. It was a Pyrrhic victory, Taylor thought. We can't afford this, ever again. If I'd walked away, they might still be alive.

  Chapter 18

  A Season to Grow

  "Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today to mourn the passing of the brave men and women who gave their lives in defense of our community..."

  Franny listened to Father Scacavelli who had his arms raised, eyes closed, standing on top of a weather-beaten park bench before the Clan in the grassy meadow below the Hill.

  A clump of tall maples behind him provided shade. He’d organized a group funeral service because too many had died for private services. As yet, there was no church or ch
apel. However, they now had a large, new cemetery.

  Franny knew how those around her, sweltering in the afternoon sun, had suffered. For two days after the battle, she had tended the wounded with no time to think about her own problems. As she prayed for the dead, she felt thankful, that in spite of her suffering, she and her children were still alive.

  I know there's nothing I can do to change what happened, but if I try, perhaps the future will be better. I've been so wrapped up in myself, she thought, I've driven people away from me. As the opening notes to 'God is our Fortress and our Rock' sounded, she opened her heart and raised her voice to God.

  #

  At the funeral service, Taylor sang almost without feeling. It brought back memories of Vivian and the life they'd once shared. His heart ached to hold her again. As he scanned the faces of those present, he recognized the Clan needed a sense of continuity and he knew for many, religion was a source of comfort and mysterious strength. He supported the establishment of formal religions even though he no longer felt any need. Something inside him had died.

  Taylor's sense of self-reliance forced him to look within to find solutions. He found what kept him going was a sense of responsibility to others. The loss of Vivian and the devastation of the battle lay on him like a black fog.

  I have done evil. My only chance of salvation lies in helping others.

  #

  After the funeral service, Taylor assembled the team leaders. "We took too many casualties and sustained too much damage."

  Heads nodded.

  "We can't let this happen again. So, what should we do about it?"

  "Well." Weitzman cleared his throat. "The Oxbow residents would like to move onto the Hill, where it's safer.”

  "All right." Taylor paused. "What about your animals?"

  "Maybe we can use the Oxbow area as farmland." Weitzman had a distant look. "However, I'm still concerned about its security. We'll have to strengthen its defenses.”

  "Let's schedule a separate meeting on that," Taylor said. "Any objections to the Oxbow people moving to the Hill?"

  "No, but I'd like to say something." Pat Rice cleared his throat. "Edgepark has some natural defenses, but they're not as good as the Oxbow and nothing like the Hill. Even though we took only minor casualties, we're vulnerable, too. We'd like to move to the Hill, as well.”

  Taylor stroked his chin. "In reality, there's a lot of space on top of the Hill if we're not concerned about hiding our presence. By now, the gangs know we're here."

  "How’re we gonna get enough shelter built in time for winter?" Fred's frustration showed. "There'll be more problems with people living so close together," he added.

  "Any other objections to the Edgepark and Oxbow people moving to the Hill?" Taylor saw heads nod agreement. “You’re right, Fred, but security comes first. It's agreed then. They can move in."

  #

  Taylor found the different factions seemed to turn to him for guidance. Perhaps they recognized he represented all of them and was committed to being fair. His leadership skills, honed in project management and the fact he was the first to settle on the Hill after the Collapse, had, de facto, put him in command.

  #

  As summer progressed, Taylor pushed to get more shelter and improve their living conditions. He organized the construction of two dams on the Rocky River to raise its level and provide better protection and more water. They used the large sandstone blocks that came from an old railroad overpass in nearby Berea for the dam.

  While building the dam, Stolz dug two channels to connect the existing river to the old riverbed. The first channel, upstream from the first dam, diverted water into the old riverbed. At the east end of the Hill, a second channel returned the water via a weir into the Rocky River. The channels maintained the water level in the old river course, which formed a 'moat' that completely surrounded the Hill.

  By the end of the summer, Stolz had finished both dams, complete with fish ladders. The new reservoirs quickly found use as swimming holes. The downstream lake, directly below the Hill, became the accepted bathing area and the taboo of being naked in public faded fast. Bathing alone in a remote section of the river was just too risky.

  #

  "Sir, please sir, let us in, please." It was a small Asian man in a torn shirt. "We afraid, sir, they took everything." His face was a mass of bruises and cuts.

  Shel Weitzman glanced up from his notepad. "D’you know anyone here?"

  The woman behind the man had a blank look on her bruised face. She clutched a tiny child who sucked a grimy fist. They were gaunt and emaciated. "The gangs, they rob us, they beat us, they take everything. My wife, they..." The man fell to his knees and placed his head on the ground in front of Weitzman.

  "Shel, let him in." Taylor helped the Asian man to his feet. "What's your name?"

  "Nguyen Van Minh. Thank you, sir, thank you," the man said. His wife's expression was unchanged. It had the same blank look seen on the faces of many refugees.

  "What d’you do?" Taylor realized they were like many who’d been caught up in events that had stripped them of possessions, pride and dignity. Yet he knew all had to work together so they might survive.

  "I had restaurant in Cleveland. They burn it."

  "Mr. Van Minh, we'll find you a place. I'm Taylor MacPherson. This is Dr. Shel Weitzman. He'll help you." Taylor led him through the gate. "Shel, send him up to see me after they've had a chance to settle in." He shook Nguyen's hand.

  "Thank you, sir, thank you. Thank you very much."

  #

  More refugees came to the Clan. Some wanted food, others sought protection.

  Weitzman examined them, turning away those with tattoos and missing teeth that suggested a gang affiliation or the scars on their arms indicating heavy drug usage. The newcomers had to swear an oath of allegiance to the Clan. All had to work. Those without skills worked as laborers on the fortifications or in the fields.

  Among the refugees who joined the Clan was Dr. Meltem Encirlik. She had been a surgical intern at the Cleveland Clinic and Weitzman knew her socially. He welcomed her gladly.

  #

  "Look, if you feed a man a meal, you satisfy his hunger for one day." Sam Wylie's voice got loud. "If you teach him to fish, you show him how to feed himself forever. Don't you see? We need the equipment and materials to make tools. Then we can make machinery for farming and manufacturing. We don't need the scraps and leftovers of society to survive." He referred to the Clan's practice of sending out regular scavenging parties.

  "Yeah, well, sure Sam, I get your point," Ted Callioux said. "We need food to get through the winter. None of us know what kind of tools to get.”

  "We can grow food." Sam Wylie’s voice cut through the conversation.

  "Sam, you're right, we'll grow our food," Taylor said, joining them. "Soon, we'll start looking for tools. And Sam, you'll be involved, I promise.”

  "Is that a real promise?" Sam Wylie's eyes narrowed. "Or are you just saying that to shut me up?"

  "It's a real promise." Taylor's mouth tightened.

  #

  "Ted, I hear you're going north today," Taylor said. "Mind if I come along? I could use a break."

  "Why, sure." Ted Callioux's eyebrows rose. He led the scavenging team because he still hoped to find his wife. "We're going out further each time. It'll take most of the day.”

  "I used to live north of here. I left some things behind," Taylor said. "Can we stop to take a look?"

  "Sure.”

  Taylor's home had been stripped and trashed. Behind the house, he found three skulls, white and grinning, along with a scattering of bones. The cache of buried items was still intact, from which he retrieved a generator and books. He wasn't sure if his personal computer would be of any use, but brought it anyway along with reference data on memory storage devices.

  Blackened shells of houses lined the streets, and those not burned, had broken windows and doors hanging ajar. Tall grass grew throughout the for
merly tidy neighborhoods. Lines of weeds delineated the cracks in the roads and sidewalks. Crows circled above. "How come we haven't seen anybody?" Taylor asked.

  "The survivors hide when they hear a vehicle," Callioux said. "Only the powerful have gasoline."

  #

  By late summer, the Clan's population grew to more than a thousand. Even with the labor surplus, Fred could not keep up with the ever-increasing demands for shelter.

  "All right, how many damn buildings do you want?" Fred had had enough. "Every time I get started on a building, you tell me to make it bigger. I can build anything you want. It'd be a whole lot easier if I knew what you wanted ahead of time.”

  "Point taken." Taylor held up his hand. "We need a plan to develop the Hill, something to follow.”

  "What about services?" Fred put his hands on his hips. "There're too many people on the Hill already. It's getting unsanitary. We've gotta deal with that, too.”

  "Yes, you're right," Taylor said, thinking hard.

  "So, what're you going to do about it?" Fred's voice took on a belligerent tone.

  "Let's work on the problem. Have Stolz join us tomorrow. Let your people know that I'll need you for the whole day.”

  #

  The next morning, Taylor unfolded a drawing and spread it out before Fred and Stolz. "Here's some of my thoughts on what we should do. I'd like your input before we get started.”

  "That'll be a change." Fred examined the drawing.

  "Look," Stolz said. "This is going to be a problem area." They went through item by item, developing the plan's concepts.

  The next day, Taylor presented them with a revised plan. "It will incorporate existing buildings as well as those under construction," he said. "Under this plan, the Hill will become a high-density living area within a wall. We'll need warehouses to store food and supplies in case of a siege..." Taylor warmed to the subject.

  #

  Within a week, the plan expanded to include sewers and water lines. There would be a main entry road that crossed the Hill to a meeting square in the center, with a perimeter road around the top. There would be no buildings along the edge of the Hill so as to preserve the trees and aid defense. It also reserved four sections of the Hill for Clan buildings and service facilities.