Frank

I knew what wartime conscription meant. Mike's words drove through my skull like an ice pick.

I wanted to press him for more, but instinct told me action had to come first.

I snatched the Wouxun radio off the table. My thumb was hovering over the PTT button when the speaker crackled to life.

Static hissed — and Frank's voice burst through first, running hot with the thrill of a deal gone right.

Frank hadn't caught the real meaning behind my words at all. I keyed the radio again, and this time I let the weight sit in my voice.

Silence stretched across the channel. Then a short answer came back — he'd finally heard what was sitting under my voice.

Some time passed before the radio came alive again.

Only after I copied Frank's last transmission did I let myself breathe. Then I headed into the mansion's living room with Mike, his son, and the young stranger they'd brought with them.

"Alright. Let's hear it. Mike — what the hell happened?"

Mike set a hand on the shoulder of the young man beside him and started there.

"Introductions first. This is my boy, Damon. And this is Carlos — Damon's roommate. Kid's a student from Cuba. The skies shut down and he had nowhere to go, so he came with us."

The two young men offered awkward greetings. When I circled back to the conscription, Mike laid out everything that had happened since they'd left.

"So. After these two rolled out of Tempe, we managed to link up at the rally point in Arizona — barely. Their tank was bone-dry. Came within a hair of being stranded."

"..."

"Anyway. We cleared Arizona and were just about to cross the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠California state line when it happened. Federal troops had a checkpoint up. They were stopping every vehicle heading into the state."

His face tightened at the memory.

"We sat there for hours without a clue why. Destination, purpose of visit — they worked people over like they were shaking down rats. And you could tell they were angling for something."

"Angling for what?"

"You know the look. The one that says you'd better offer something up on your ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠own. But there were too many eyes. Slip them something and you'd just as likely get yourself pinched for it. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠So I made a scene."

"And?"

"I raised enough hell that I got lucky — ended up in front of a major. Checkpoint commander, or someone over him, I don't know. And wouldn't you know it... the son of a bitch was a butter-bar second lieutenant the last time I saw him. I trained that kid."

"..."

"One thing led to another. He recognized me first, pulled me aside, and told me quiet: taking those young men into California right now was the same as walking into a fire on your own two feet."

"So the major—"

"That's right. I dug in my heels, and finally he tipped me off."

Mike's voice dropped.

"He said a surprise conscription sweep was coming across the whole of California. Not the National Guard — federal troops, in person. And the part that mattered most: they wouldn't give a damn what state you were from."

"Why California? Why not Arizona?"

"That's the politics of it."

"Come again?"

"Arizona's government hasn't picked a side. From the federal government's point of view, that's a place that could flip tomorrow — intel could leak, or worse, Arizona could get angry enough to peel off and join the Southern Confederacy."

He added one more thing.

"He figured the primary targets would be healthy young men thirty and under."

Sarah, who had been listening from the living room, cut in.

"Mike — they're talking about a draft when the war hasn't even started?"

"Sarah, you think an army's just a matter of grabbing anybody off the street and putting a rifle in their hands? Training takes time. So does building a table of organization."

"..."

"On top of that, a huge chunk of the federal force is still stationed overseas, and the air lanes are dead. So even if the civilians howl about it, conscription is the hand they chose to play."

"Still, they'd announce it. Go through the press first, at least..."

"That's a naive way to look at it, Sarah. You think anybody's going to walk their son down to a recruiting station if the news is screaming about a draft?"

"Ah..."

"That's what war is. You do everything you can to win."

I'd already believed the Great Winter could drive the federal government to extreme choices. I looked around at all of them and laid it down.

From the far side of the living room, Sarah and Raven — who had been listening in silence — went white.

"Then... could Adam and Liam be targets too?"

Raven's voice shook. Mike couldn't quite meet her eyes.

"I wouldn't... count them ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠out."

Chloe spoke up, disbelief plain on her face.

"But this is America. They're not going to drag people off the street like Russia or Ukraine, are they?"

I looked at her.

"Stack a disaster on top of a war and there's no such thing as too insane. We're already fighting raiders on this soil. In this America."

That was when Cody shouted, eyes on the drone controller.

"Hyung — truck coming in!"

We all went out to the front yard to meet Jake. The pickup rolled to a stop, and Jake climbed down from the driver's seat looking thoroughly lost.

"Why's everybody outside? We need to load more dried fruit and almonds and get back. Frank's losing his mind over there."

Gunner stepped in.

"What do we need to load?"

He went to the warehouse with Jake and heaved a few more sacks into the bed. Then, when Jake started to climb back into the passenger seat, Gunner pulled him out of it.

"You're staying here."

"What?"

"I'll run this over to Frank."

He didn't explain further. He just tossed it at Jake on his way past.

"Get the rest from the boss."

Then he pointed the truck at the truck stop and was gone. Jake was left standing there alone, still wearing that bewildered look.

I brought him inside and walked him through it, piece by piece. And just like that, the brief commotion was over.

That was when Raven called from the dining room.

"Everyone — food's ready."

We sat back down around the table for a late lunch. Damon and Carlos, who had been starving on the road for days, went wide-eyed at the spread in front of them. Both young men shoveled food into their mouths and let out genuine, unguarded sounds of wonder.

"Wow... I mean... I can't even remember the last time I ate real food. This is like Mom's Sunday dinner."

Damon's praise put warm smiles on Raven and Sarah. Dave's mother watched the two of them the way a woman watches her own grandsons.

A question stirred in me about Damon's mother — Mike's wife — a woman Mike had never once mentioned. I didn't ask.

Instead, over the meal, I put the next problem in front of him.

"Mike. If war or an earthquake forces us out of California... I intend to move east along US Route 50."

Mike set his fork down and sat with that for a moment. Then he nodded.

"That's a good thought."

A bitter look crossed his face, as if he were walking the road he'd just come down all over again.

"Coming up from Arizona, I felt it in my bones — every road heading south is hell now. The cartels have the Mexican border locked down, the southern states are at each other's throats, and the refugees are pouring that way."

"..."

"The east is different. That's still forgotten country. While everybody else is staring south, pointing ourselves east isn't a bad play at all."

His backing settled something in me. The call had been the right one. We were still talking when Adam — who had taken over the drone from Cody — shouted from the living room, eyes on the controller.

"Frank's truck is coming in!"

"Already?"

I was on my feet before I knew it. Dave, Frank, and Gunner had been gone three or four hours at most. I hadn't expected them back this fast.

Everyone in the living room spilled out into the front yard again. Two pickups came in throwing dust and stopped in the yard, and Dave and Frank climbed down wearing grins that split their faces.

"Sold it all! Every last bit!"

Dave all but shouted it. Frank came walking up like a general returning from a victorious campaign, as if none of this were any trouble at all.

"Aigoo, it's freezing out here — why is everybody standing around? Let's get inside."

As the rest of us filed back into the living room, Gunner drifted up beside me and snorted a laugh.

"That Frank. The guy's a real operator."

People packed in around Frank and Dave on the living room sofa. Every pair of eyes in the room said the same thing: What the hell happened out there? Sarah and Raven smiled and prodded him.

"Honey, go on. Tell us your war story."

Frank made a show of drawing it out, and Jake jumped in first.

"Frank was different from the second we hit the truck stop."

According to Jake, before Frank even went looking for the manager, he'd started at the armed guards on the door and worked his way through the store clerks, pressing a bag of almonds and pistachios into every pair of hands — buying goodwill, and with it, cooperation.

Frank picked it up from there.

"Haha. In the trade, we call that greasing the wheels."

"..."

"After the usual runaround I finally got in front of the manager. First thing he did was go through the roof — said the whole idea was insane. So I asked him for one day. Just a trial. Any stall would do, rent paid same day in goods."

"In goods?"

Mike asked. Frank's grin widened.

"Sure. In a world like this, a sack of produce talks louder than a brick of cash. And it never hits the books — which, as it turned out, was what really hooked him. We settled on two kinds of crop a day, ten kilos each."

"Not bad. So where'd you end up?"

"I wanted a stall inside the store. Manager told me to set up in a corner by the entrance, sell whatever I wanted, and if anything went wrong he didn't know a thing about it. I took it. And that — that was what made it explode."

I asked the question that had been sitting in my mouth.

"Getting the stall was impressive enough. How did you move that much volume in a single day?"

"Haha. That's the Frank touch, my friend."

Dave shook his head, still not quite believing it.

"I've got to give him this one."

"..."

"I didn't even notice at first. You know the first thing Frank did the second he had that stall? He hauled out a giant signboard he'd made in advance."

"Oh—"

"Big prices written on it, red lines slashed right through them, and a different number written underneath — like he'd just marked everything down."

Frank laughed.

"A truck stop's in-and-out people. They don't know if that price tag's been hanging there since yesterday or if I tacked it up thirty seconds ago. Why would they?"

Mike leaned in.

"So. What'd you sell it for?"

Frank's face went serious. He pulled a crumpled notebook from inside his coat and started his report.

A low sound of amazement went around the room. Frank finished talking, then dropped the duffel bag he'd brought onto the table with a dull thump and unzipped it.

Inside, worn ten- and twenty-dollar bills were packed to the seams.

"That's today's cash. About sixty percent of the total take came in bills."

"..."

"Twenty-one thousand six hundred. Everything else is ammo and goods still sitting in the trucks."

We stared at the mountain of cash on the table and, behind it, at the tens of thousands of rounds we couldn't see, and for a moment nobody had anything to say.

Frank stood there with his chest out like a conquering general. Dave was delighted as a kid on Christmas morning. And for a few seconds, every one of us felt like we'd just gotten rich.

He wasn't just a salesman. In a world coming apart, he was the finest supply officer we could have asked for — the man who filled our coffers and kept the ammunition coming.

But I could feel it in my gut. A light that bright was a good way to draw the wrong kind of eyes.