South America
The conversation drifted, naturally enough, into an after-action review of the battle we'd just survived.
Two successful defenses. We were all in agreement: overwhelming firepower and thorough preparation were what kept this farm standing.
"Those shotgun traps, though…" Dave said, shaking his head in admiration. "Every bit as nasty as Claymores. Those bastards got shredded the second they hit the approach."
That got Jake thinking.
"What if we made them portable? Bundle three or five together, weld a steel spike onto the back — you could just drive them into the ground wherever you needed them."
"That's a good idea."
Gunner picked up the thread.
"Scatter pattern changes with the length of the pipe. Mix the long ones with the short ones and you could cover a wider area — or concentrate fire on a single point."
Frank chimed in.
"Then we'll need a portable trigger mechanism too. Not hard. Jake, you got any leftover drone batteries?"
"I've got a fair number I don't use much — the charge efficiency's gone on them."
"That's plenty. Detonator's a one-shot deal anyway."
The talk was in full swing when Mike looked over at Gunner.
"Gunner, that truck of yours. You're going to be punching trail at the head of the column from now on. There'll be times in a fight when a shooter has to pop the sunroof and fire from the waist up."
"That's the only way to shoot on the move."
"So how about we weld a gun shield around the sunroof? Give the shooter some cover."
"Ha! I like it."
Gunner laughed and added,
"Hell, I've already got a V-Plow bolted to the front. The thing already looks like a freak. Might as well go all the way."
"Your truck's gonna look like it rolled straight out of Mad Max," Dave joked.
Gunner glanced at me and fired back.
"Mine only looks the part. That commander's rig over there? That's a Transformer. Rear ramp door goes clank, and a machine-gun nest pops out with a ta-da. Haha."
The living room filled with laughter all over again.
Then Mike mentioned that while they'd been sorting the loot, a few decent ballistic helmets had turned up, and told Gunner to stow them in his truck.
"Forget it. We don't wear that bulky crap."
Gunner waved him off. Mike's expression hardened.
Gunner looked at him for a moment, then snorted a quiet laugh.
"Alright. When a senior says it, I listen."
From there the talk turned to who would drive alongside Gunner and back him up once he took the lead vehicle.
While Gunner and I scanned the room for the right man, Carlos — a friend of Mike's son, who'd been sitting quietly off to one side, listening the whole time — shot his hand into the air.
"I… I'd like to do something."
Everyone's eyes turned to him. He'd always been so quiet. Gunner didn't seem to mind; he looked Carlos over and asked,
"You any good behind the wheel?"
"Back in Cuba I used to drive Russian trucks that were half-rotted. A truck like this is no problem."
The confidence in it seemed to satisfy Gunner. He answered short.
"Good."
I said it like a declaration, to the whole room.
"Alright then. From now on, Gunner and Carlos take point."
"Next we need someone to drive the tanker."
Jed spoke up quietly.
"If it's a big rig, I can handle it. Back at Vestas I used to haul oversized cargo now and then — turbine blades and the like."
"That works. Jed, the tanker is yours."
That left the seat beside me. Mike looked my way.
"The commander's truck needs a second man too."
I met his eyes and said nothing. He caught my meaning at once and chuckled.
"Heh. Well then, I'll leave my van with the boy for a while and ride with the commander. I'll count myself lucky if I don't get an earful the whole way."
"Pretty sure you'll be the one doing the lecturing."
"That so? Hahaha."
And so our new formation, and everyone's place in it, began to take shape. Then someone suggested armor-plating the tanker's tank.
We didn't have enough ballistic material to cover the whole thing, though. Even if we had, complete protection was impossible, and given the weight and the hours the work would eat, it wasn't worth it. Besides, even raiders wouldn't casually open fire on a fuel tanker. The idea was dropped.
We did decide, however, to fit protective skirts around the fuel tanks and tires of my truck and a few of the other vehicles.
And so that long, long day finally came to a close. Back in my trailer, I took a swallow of cold beer and thought: this fragile peace, bought with force and blood — I had to savor even a single day of it for all it was worth.
And the next day.
Dawn broke, as it always did. I started the same unchanging routine, walking the farm's perimeter with Wolf, checking the grounds.
Beneath a gray sky, the farm was greeting a quiet, peaceful morning, as if it had simply forgotten that the world was ending.
In the distance, Mike and Jed were already up, coffee cups in hand, trading jokes on the farmhouse porch and talking over the day's work.
Off to the other side, Gunner was grinding through his own brutal routine — push-ups mixed with interval sprints — in grim silence.
Then Cody came bustling past us, and I called out.
"Cody, what's going on?"
"Ah — they need more eggs in the kitchen!"
He took off toward the chicken coop. Watching that peaceful scene, I muttered to myself.
Yeah… it's just cold, that's all.
Yesterday's fierce firefight, and this utterly ordinary, peaceful morning. I found myself hoping, once more, that this strange, almost suspicious ease would last even one more day.
Everyone was busy with their own work, and the day slipped by — the kind of day I might once have dismissed as boring routine.
Toward evening, Raven's cheerful voice crackled from the radios that everyone now wore on their belts.
And from all over the farm, people started walking toward the farmhouse one by one, slapping the oil from their hands, covered in dust and dirt.
Watching them, I suddenly thought of my old coworkers at the Nisku loading dock, heading home after a hard day's work. A strange kind of nostalgia.
Everyone gathered in the dining room, and the meal began with Eleanor's prayer — by now a new ritual of our community.
"Thank You for allowing us to sit together at this table again today. Amen."
Sarah set down a great platter of roast chicken.
"We processed a few chickens today. Roasted them in the oven, made soup too. Eat up, everybody."
"Whoa, Sarah! This roast chicken — this is practically art. A hundred times better than anything you'd get in a restaurant!"
Dave's praise filled the table with energy all over again. Frank wiped his mouth and said,
"Tomorrow I should go sell a few more things at the truck stop. While we're at it, make a little more money…"
"No, Frank."
I cut him off.
"That's enough. Our stockpile is solid now. From here on, we need to focus on how we protect what we already have."
The pleasant dinner ended, and as if by unspoken agreement, everyone gathered in the living room.
It was time to see how the world was holding up. But standing in front of the television at the end of this peaceful day made me uneasy, somehow.
That little square box had never brought us anything but fear and terrible news.
"We're connected."
Jake's words, and the screen came on. But there was no red breaking-news banner, no shocked anchor's voice.
Just the usual tone. An anchor wrapping up the day's news.
Even catastrophes on the scale of mega-earthquakes and civil wars were becoming, for all of us, just another day's news — no different from yesterday's.
The anchor on the screen was calmly broadcasting a despair that had become routine.
There was no detailed explanation, but I thought of a supply sergeant I'd known, tending a vegetable patch behind the barracks, saying you can't let land sit idle — and figured they were turning empty ground into fields.
The screen cut to Africa. Children reduced to skin and bone by starvation.
The anchor delivered the news of a dying planet — of a dying humanity — in a dry, even voice. The Southern Hemisphere was no exception.
The dry voice that had been reading the news darkened, just slightly.
It had been a peaceful evening. But the news was more than enough to call to mind that famous line from Berserk: there is no paradise in the place you fled to.
Even so, I thought — this place we had found, fleeing the Great Winter, this paradise locked inside hell — I would protect it. I would protect it for as long as it could be protected.