from a young age, take up the trade of hunting and defending their declared home of New Madrid. They were, French mused, quiet, industrious, wryly funny, and utter death with rifles at any range up to a half mile, it seemed. Of his best platoon, no less than nine were Patty-Macs and, if he was being honest, the eleven year old twin girls, Alinya and Jaska, were going to be better than anyone in the entire community once they grew a bit more. French considered himself an excellent shot, but that family took marksmanship as seriously as breathing. Their use as sniper teams had saved more lives than anyone could count. The family functioned as a single unit during each killing moon attack, and nothing escaped their punishing fire.
It was a full house. There was less than a week until the next dark, moonless night, and preparations were well underway. Stocks of clean bandages and medical supplies were being stationed at each concentric ring that hemmed the scalded sands around Underneath. French had noticed the scent of fresh cut lumber earlier; that meant that the two shooting platforms destroyed last month had been rebuilt. His best guns were positioned there, as well as key fallback positions. In the year since his arrival, French had moved steadily up the ladder of the militia, making reasonable decisions based on sound tactics, rather than a lust for instant reprisal. After seeing his first nasty series of traps decimate the first wave of hellhounds nearly eight months earlier, each subsequent element of his defensive stratagem had been integrated more or less without discussion. He was, quite simply, the best military mind in the community, and Harriet Fleming planned to ride his ability into the ground if need be. They couldn’t afford to hemorrhage lives faster than recruits could be trained, simply because French was a relative newcomer to their town.
With a clack of her gavel, Harriet brought the meeting to order. Several hundred people descended into that state of murmur that precluded conversation, but was steeped in the emotional temperature of the room. With an attack days away, tensions were high. Expressions ran from curious to worry. Occasional flashes of anger could be seen in the crowd. Just because the end of the world was nigh didn’t mean that neighbors could get along.
“French? Would you report on our general state of readiness?” Harriet asked before anyone else could speak. She wanted to command this meeting. The last two had been little more than shouting matches, thanks to Colvin Watley’s oblique insults.
The reluctant man stood, gathered his thoughts, and then turned to face the bulk of the room. His hands were held at his sides in an unconscious gesture of readiness. He took one sharp look at Colvin Watley and spoke. “We’ve had three salvage trains in the past weeks. After doing some trading, we’ve got full stores on reload supplies for the long guns. The miners who are working the collapsed cliffs up the Mississippi River Valley are producing plenty of lead, and we are still trading at a profit with the Colorado group. Their copper and molybdenum supplies don’t appear to be in any danger of running out, but even so, our engineers have traded for an another wire extruder. We can make thirty percent more ammunition, and we’ll have no less than seven months’ worth in reserve at any time. We need about three more weeks to get comfortable for the fall hunting season; you know how we go through rounds taking down whitetail and pronghorn.” Since the Rising, antelope and bison had spread east again, and New Madrid put away a massive store of meat each autumn, by harvesting the herds that moved southwest along the ridges. By late October, every smokehouse would be filled, and families could relax somewhat knowing that starving during the long winter was only a distant possibility. “We’ve got two more suppliers from the Great Lakes and the upper plains on their way.”
“What
It was a full house. There was less than a week until the next dark, moonless night, and preparations were well underway. Stocks of clean bandages and medical supplies were being stationed at each concentric ring that hemmed the scalded sands around Underneath. French had noticed the scent of fresh cut lumber earlier; that meant that the two shooting platforms destroyed last month had been rebuilt. His best guns were positioned there, as well as key fallback positions. In the year since his arrival, French had moved steadily up the ladder of the militia, making reasonable decisions based on sound tactics, rather than a lust for instant reprisal. After seeing his first nasty series of traps decimate the first wave of hellhounds nearly eight months earlier, each subsequent element of his defensive stratagem had been integrated more or less without discussion. He was, quite simply, the best military mind in the community, and Harriet Fleming planned to ride his ability into the ground if need be. They couldn’t afford to hemorrhage lives faster than recruits could be trained, simply because French was a relative newcomer to their town.
With a clack of her gavel, Harriet brought the meeting to order. Several hundred people descended into that state of murmur that precluded conversation, but was steeped in the emotional temperature of the room. With an attack days away, tensions were high. Expressions ran from curious to worry. Occasional flashes of anger could be seen in the crowd. Just because the end of the world was nigh didn’t mean that neighbors could get along.
“French? Would you report on our general state of readiness?” Harriet asked before anyone else could speak. She wanted to command this meeting. The last two had been little more than shouting matches, thanks to Colvin Watley’s oblique insults.
The reluctant man stood, gathered his thoughts, and then turned to face the bulk of the room. His hands were held at his sides in an unconscious gesture of readiness. He took one sharp look at Colvin Watley and spoke. “We’ve had three salvage trains in the past weeks. After doing some trading, we’ve got full stores on reload supplies for the long guns. The miners who are working the collapsed cliffs up the Mississippi River Valley are producing plenty of lead, and we are still trading at a profit with the Colorado group. Their copper and molybdenum supplies don’t appear to be in any danger of running out, but even so, our engineers have traded for an another wire extruder. We can make thirty percent more ammunition, and we’ll have no less than seven months’ worth in reserve at any time. We need about three more weeks to get comfortable for the fall hunting season; you know how we go through rounds taking down whitetail and pronghorn.” Since the Rising, antelope and bison had spread east again, and New Madrid put away a massive store of meat each autumn, by harvesting the herds that moved southwest along the ridges. By late October, every smokehouse would be filled, and families could relax somewhat knowing that starving during the long winter was only a distant possibility. “We’ve got two more suppliers from the Great Lakes and the upper plains on their way.”
“What
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