Justification

Lieutenant Colonel Gibson left those pointed words hanging in the air and walked away.

While I turned his parting remarks over in my mind, everyone else got moving. Trucks, caravans, and trailers were arranged through the new camp with the kind of crisp, practiced order that only working truckers could pull off.

Dave came over once he'd caught his breath, a smile already on his face.

"Chan, those new union members who just rolled in — they're all staying here with us, right?"

"You already know the answer. Until the job's done, a trucker's sleeper is home and bed both."

Dave grinned like he'd expected exactly that.

"That's why I packed a mountain of ingredients for salmon stew before we left Tahoe. Those guys have been grinding it out on the road for days. A hot bowl each would do them good."

I had to admire the thoughtfulness all over again.

"Haha. That's Dave for you. We can set up on one side of the warehouse we've been using as a meeting hall."

Dave immediately started rallying people, hanging a massive pot and getting the stew underway. Raven and Sarah took over the cooking.

Before long a rich, savory warmth filled the warehouse, and Bill picked up the radio.

The transmission had barely ended before the truckers in the lot climbed down from their cabs and started for the warehouse.

Walking in, they found a warmth and a smell of real food that had nothing to do with the cold night air outside, and color came back into their exhausted faces.

Dave ladled out generous scoops of salmon stew, striking up easy conversation and exchanging greetings even with truckers he'd never met.

"You've all had a hell of a stretch."

"Hell of a stretch, nothing. We finally got to work the stiffness out thanks to a union boss we can actually count on."

"Sounds like there hasn't been much work."

"It wasn't that there was no work. It was too dangerous to leave the city, that was the problem. But Polar Bear wiped out those Road Warrior bastards and stood up a union on top of it, so now we can put food on the table again."

"Haha. Fair enough. Dig in."

"Much obliged. Man — how long has it been since I tasted anything this fresh? Been chewing nothing but canned food."

"Come on, come on. We made plenty. Eat your fill."

Murmurs of agreement rose from every side at the trucker's wonder. A hot bowl of stew meant more than a meal. Each swallow of broth seemed to thaw something that had frozen solid in them.

One of the truckers, tension finally loosening as he ate, turned to Dave.

"Hey — how long have you known this Polar Bear fellow, anyway? You're not brothers, but you sure act like you've spent a lifetime together."

Dave answered with his chest puffed out, as if the question itself were a compliment.

"Us? Friends from Yellowknife, Canada. We've come all the way down here together since this damned world started."

A low ripple of astonishment moved through the truckers around him.

The simple fact that he had come from the frozen northern edge of Canada all the way to Nevada, from the day the ice age began, was enough to make them look at Dave as something more than a generous cook.

And that was how the first night they all spent together at Carson Camp came and went.

The next morning.

We were supposed to take the day to rest and reorganize, but Lieutenant Colonel Gibson and his aides came back to Carson Camp anyway. They needed to move some of the cargo we'd hauled on to other locations.

The truckers used the downtime to inspect their own rigs. Off to one side, Frank was already opening a new line of business.

Bill had introduced him to Walter, the western branch director, and Frank slipped among the Carson City locals as if he'd always belonged there, trading jokes until their guard came down.

"...I see, I see. So what's the rarest thing in this town these days? Bullets? Fuel? Women?"

One of the truckers laughed at Frank's banter.

"Bullets and fuel have always been scarce. Women — whether it's chemistry or just need — I wouldn't call them rare, exactly. What's actually precious around here these days is something else."

"And what's that?"

"Proper coffee beans and cigarettes."

"It's not like you die without them. They're that precious?"

"Come on, man. People can't live on rice alone. The state government doesn't ration the stuff, so it's whatever price the seller names. I saw a guy asking twenty rounds for a single bag of coffee."

"Instant coffee expensive too?"

"Not quite that bad. But there's one kind that's still hard to get."

"Oh? Which?"

"What's it called... the one from Korea."

"Ah. You mean those yellow Maxim sticks?"

"That's the one. You need ten live rounds a packet just to get your hands on it."

"What? Per packet? For one cup?"

"That's right."

"Hoo, boy."

"Tell me about it. It's wildly popular — I don't know why nobody imported it in bulk while they still could. Especially with truckers like us. Top of the list."

"No kidding. The boss used to mix it up for us now and then and we drank it without a second thought. Hard to believe it's gotten that rare. Wild world. Haha."

Frank clicked his tongue as if in dismay, but his eyes were already glittering with a new product line.

Everyone I'd brought to Carson Camp was in motion.

Dave and Frank moved through the camp managing supplies. Tank and Gears went down the union members' trucks one by one, checking their maintenance. Bill seemed busy with the National Guard, inspecting the cargo we'd delivered and hashing out the next run.

Evening came around before I knew it. The key people gathered in my trailer again, and Bill spoke first, flipping open a small notebook for the interim report.

"We've finished the first and second hauls. Once we complete the rest of the runs and pay the union members everything we promised them..."

He glanced down the page.

"The Union's assets will include one tanker truck's worth of diesel, plus another three thousand gallons on top of that. And per the contract, we'll have no fewer than three full containers of weapons and ammunition, clean and accounted for."

"Wow!"

"Whoa—"

"Hmm. Not bad."

The exclamations came one after another from Dave, Frank, and Tank. Dave, already buzzing, pressed on.

"At that rate we could turn around and sell fuel ourselves, couldn't we? We've already got fourteen thousand gallons stockpiled, so that's twenty-seven thousand combined, right?"

Mike shook his head at once.

"No. Fuel is a strategic resource. We have no idea when we'll get more of it. We stockpile every last drop."

"He's right."

Frank smacked his lips, disappointed, then the salesman in him came right back.

"Even without fuel, there's no shortage of things to sell. Fresh food like salmon and trout fetches a much higher price here in Carson City than it did in Tahoe."

He barely paused for breath.

"On top of that, we took a hundred cartons of cigarettes when we handed over the fishing grounds, and the cartons we picked up here and there coming down from Yellowknife have to be another hundred and fifty. Cigarettes are practically gold here."

He ticked the next item off on his fingers.

"And Tahoe was a tourist town, so the warehouses are supposedly stacked with liquor, cigarettes, that kind of luxury goods. We're going back for Tahoe salmon anyway. Buy that stuff cheap every run and flip it here, and we'll do pretty well."

A grin spread across his face.

"Oh, and those coffee mixes the boss used to make for us? Gold. Convert that mix to rounds and you're looking at over twenty thousand. Haha."

Frank seemed to thrive even more in a world this hard.

"Alright, Frank. I'll leave that side of things to you."

"Good. Just between us — depending how this shakes out, we may need a regular logistics run between Tahoe and Carson."

"That serious?"

"Winter and the war risk cut the freight, but the roads are still there. Anyway, I'll bring it up if it comes to that."

"Understood. We'll be staying here in Carson City for a while, but remember we may have to move east again at any time, depending on the situation. I'm thinking Fallon for the next base."

Bill tilted his head.

"Then what happens to Carson Camp, boss?"

"We keep it as a Union outpost. A lot of the truckers already live in Carson City, and this place is doing the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠work of a logistics hub, so the jobs will keep coming."

"Ah. So you're thinking of keeping on adding outposts like Carson Camp?"

"That's right. We keep expanding the union's footholds. Meanwhile our crew's home base shifts east, a little at a time. Just in case."

"Aha. I get you. Oh — and it looks like we'll need more than a day of rest. They're saying the next haul won't be possible for another two or three days."

"Why?"

"Filling the containers at Hawthorne Base is running slow, apparently. So Lieutenant Colonel Gibson is coming tomorrow to do an interim tally of the supplies assigned to us."

"Fair enough. Pulling materiel out of an ammo bunker and packing containers isn't light work."

I turned to Gunner.

"Gunner. On the next run I'll park my truck at the Fallon junction temporary checkpoint and use it as HQ. I want you to take the F-550 and, based on Jake's aerial recon, personally scout locations we could use as a new base."

"OK."

Gunner's answer was short. I looked ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠around at the rest of them.

"Then while we rest, we service the trucks and the camp."

The next day Bill came in with the paperwork on the supplies we'd received as payment for the two hauls.

"Boss. Of our share, we took delivery of the first two containers of ammunition and equipment."

He pointed at the documents and recited.

"Good work, Bill. Start by issuing the union members rifles and five hundred rounds apiece."

"Ah — right. Lieutenant Colonel Gibson said he wants to see you again, though."

"Then have him meet me here."

A short while later, with Bill showing him in, Lieutenant Colonel Gibson stepped into my trailer.

I handed him a cup of freshly brewed coffee. Wolf lay quietly at my feet, watching the room.

After the brief courtesies, the lieutenant colonel went on with a serious face.

"The state government does intend to simply move Hawthorne's stores to Carson City and disperse them. But the larger picture is to establish new outposts and defensive strongpoints at key locations across Nevada."

He let that sit a moment, then continued.

"Which means, as I said yesterday, the regular hauls are only going to increase. We've judged that mounting a large-scale escort operation ourselves every single time is far too inefficient."

"Without an armed convoy, the truckers will refuse the runs."

"I'm aware."

Gibson nodded and pressed on.

"So here's the proposal. When this mission is over, we'll provide Polaris Union with additional technical trucks or a few armed Humvees. From there, you strengthen your own armament and handle the escort on your end. How does that sit with you?"

I didn't answer right away. He filled the silence himself.