Blackout: Chapter 13

From the Journal of Jason Forrester

7 July 2013

I just finished re-reading the Postman.  Much less - and yet at the same time more - optimistic than Canticle.  In that world, the Fall was slowed possibly even stopped by a man with a postal worker's uniform and a satchel of letters.

Of the three legs of civilization - guns, currency, and writing - this one was one of the most important.  Gold and guns may fall away, but writing survives for far longer.  Writing allows mankind to advance more than either of the others.  It is writing which allows mankind to tell his progeny of the past, to allow mankind to speak to those far distant.

Writing is like a time machine, and it is the postal courier who makes that happen.  There was a time when postal workers were sacrosanct, when the mere thought of harming a runner or a courier was foreign to any man of honor.

I makes me wonder, would I be able to halt the fall when it comes by starting up a courier service?  Would I even have the resources to do so?

Shawnee Mission Medical Center

16 September 2013

"Okay, Mr. Driscoll, that should do it."

"Thanks doc," Roarke Driscoll responded, testing his leg lightly as he tried to stand.

"You really should be more careful.  It is a rough world out there, Mr. Driscoll.  Why not just stay here, we could always use couriers here in the hospital.  I know Captain Bauers was interested in keeping you on."

Driscoll grabbed his old and weather-worn postal service jacket, and limped slightly as he stepped out into the hall.  "No thanks, Doc.  I wouldn't mind using this place as a base of operations, though."

"Why not? Why not stay here?"

"I took an oath, Doc.  Neither heat nor snow nor strontium rain shall stop me from my appointed rounds."

"Strontium rain?" The Doc asked, eye quirked.

"I read a little too much Post-Apocalyptic works before the Blackout.  My buddies in the Postal Service thought it was funny, I meant it.  You ever read The Postman, doc?"

"No, why?"

"One postman, telling a lie granted, but one postman none-the-less, was able to bring civilization back the Willamette Valley after the fall.  Maybe I can do the same thing here."

Dr. Samson Ludolf, the Hospital administrator walked in, he had stopped and was eavesdropping until this point, "You are a brave man, Mr. Driscoll.  I hope you succeed."

"Me too.  Did you get all those letters I asked for?"

"Yeah, everyone with family outside the hospital has letters they wrote.  You need any stamps?"

"Nah, just keep a room open for me and let me eat for free when I stop by, and I will never charge you for sending letters."

"Deal," Ludolf replied.  "The letters are in the saddle bags on your horse.  You are lucky you are the only one who got shot."

"I think the ass who shot me wanted the horse."

87th and Lackman

17 September 2013

Driscoll was losing hope.  He had been following the smoke for some time now, hoping to catch up with the nomadic refugees he thought he had been following.  That turned out not to be the case.  When he started passing the fire gutted remains of technology stores and libraries, he knew a deliberate hand was at work.  This was not a random collection of fires, these had been deliberate.

At each of the most likely places people might seek shelter, he had found a symbol.  It was a rough sketch made in charcoal of a tree with a sun rising behind it.  In a few places he had found fragments of burned books or documents in the fire burned location.  A great evil had marched through this route, and scattered the people who did not fall under its sway.  And it wanted to kill everything he loved.

Now, staring into the shattered windows of a former super market - even the name of the store had been stolen by people desperate for anything they could find - he was beginning to think he was on a fool's errand.  He urged the horse forward to check out the bank for any potential information, when a shot rang out.

Pulling out the revolver carbine he kept on him, he dropped the reins and surveyed the scene.  A muzzle flash from the retirement home across the street gave away the position of his attackers.  Driscoll fired a couple shots back at his attacker, hoping to force his attacker to duck down so Driscoll could escape.  One of the bullets visibly smacked into the wall beside the window, but Driscoll couldn't figure out where the other bullet impacted.  He could only hope it didn't hurt someone innocent hiding within the building.

Much to his surprise, two men burst out of the bank.  One was dressed in a ragged suit and tie while the man beside him was wearing a hoodie and leather jacket.  Both of them were carrying makeshift clubs, and looked at him with hunger and desperation.  Swinging his carbine around, he opened fire with two rounds in their general direction.  The man in the ragged suit and tie stopped in fear while the man in the leather jacket and hoodie charged on.  With no choice left, Driscoll double-tapped him in the chest, dropping him to the ground.

The man in the ragged suit and tie glared at him with rage, and circled him as Driscoll pulled out a speed loader and ejected the spent cartridges.  A shot rang out from the nursing home, so Driscoll finished reloading, snapped the cylinder closed, and opened fire at the home.

He could hear the man in the ragged suit and tie running towards him, and so he turned and used his carbine to block the blow.  His horse reared in fear and flailed its front hooves at the man as it turned in fear.  Driscoll held on as best he could, trying merely to stay on the back of the horse.

The crunch of the horse's hoof connecting the man in the worn down suit alerted Driscoll that the hostile was down.  He spurred his horse onwards, and put the bank between himself and the grocery store.  He then turned north and rode down Lackman.  He knew there was an elementary school nearby, and if anyone was going to choose a spot to live, a school was a good choice.

Christa McAuliffe Elementary School

17 September 2013

Driscoll almost lost hope as he stared at the school.  It was a burned out wreck, just like the other schools and libraries had been.  The symbol was there as well.

This one was different though.  It was the gas tank that intrigued him.

It looked like it had been a molotov cocktail, at some point.  Opening up the spigot he was surprised to see that it was still half full, but not with gasoline.  There was also signs that a number of people had arrived on bicycles and then walked around, investigating what had happened.  Their trail led away to the North-East.

He decided to follow them.  If they led where he thought they led, then their leader had a relatively good head on his shoulders.

 

Shawnee Mission Northwest High School

19 September 2013

Booker was out on bike patrol when he heard the sound of the horse.  He stopped and put a hand on his axe, ready to act if necessary.  Ditching the bike, he snuck up closer to catch sight of the man on horseback.  Jayce had standing orders to investigate anyone within a block of the school who looked somewhat prosperous.

If they were raiders, it would give them enough time to hole up and fortify their location.  If they were just normal people, they would try to re-direct them elsewhere.  But if they had skills the colonies could use, it was imperative they be contacted about joining.

Even with the knowledge of their bug-out location, Hoisingon, and the skills available to them there, Booker was convinced.  The problem wasn't in surviving once they reached the small town, it was the 300 miles between here and there.  It would take them eight to ten days to walk there, hours at most in their vehicles.

Sneaking around, he noticed the man was wearing a postal worker's jacket.

He picked up his radio, and called in, "Fire Bird to Cougar Base, Fire Bird to Cougar Base, come back, over."

The postman jumped off and wrapped the reins around a pole.  He started fishing around in the bag.

"Fire Bird, this is Ranger.  Go ahead, over."  It was obviously Jayce's voice.

"Ranger, I have a man on horseback doing recon of the school, over."

"Fire Bird, what is he doing, over?"

The postman flipped through the letters in his bag and then pulled out a pair of binoculars as he muttered to himself.

"Ranger, he is dressed as a postman and is surveying the school with binoculars, over."

"Okay.  Fire Bird, I am heading your way now.  What's your twenty?"

"I'm on 66th, between Rosehill and Westgate, over."

"Copy that Fire Bird, I am inbound now.  Make contact, hold him there.  Out."

Booker double clicked the send button to confirm his reception of the message.  He stuffed the radio in his back pocket, hefted his axe, and stepped out into the open.

"Hello there."

The man in the postal jacket swung around, hand on the revolver at his hip.  It was a swing holster, which meant the pistol was now trained on him.  Booker congratulated himself on his stealth, but decided he needed to work on his first contact skills.

"Whoah, I don't want to hurt you.  Not if I don't have to."

"Then why are you carrying the axe?" the postman asked.

"Because you are in my territory.  I wanted to make sure you didn't mean us any harm."  Booker nodded at the jacket, "That jacket real, postman?"

"Yeah, name's Driscoll, Roarke Driscoll.  How about you, are you really a fireman or did you take that off someone?"

Booker shouldered his axe, "Fire Medic Booker Savage."

Before Driscoll could comment, he held up a hand and said, "Please, no jokes."

Driscoll loosened his grip on the swing holster and allowed the barrel to point to the ground.  "What are you folks doing out here?"

Jayce walked up at that point, "I could ask you the same."

"Looking for signs of civilization remaining out here in the suburbs.  I half expected to find this place had been burned as well."

"You been tracking the Children of the New Dawn then, I take it," Jayce responded.

"I guess so.  I haven't come across anyone who lived to hear their name.  Just been tracking the burned out schools, libraries, and tech stores."  Driscoll looked at him skeptically, "I take it you are with Mr. Savage over here."

Jayce nodded, but did not extend his hands, "Yeah, you could say that.  Jason Forrester, retired Staff Sergeant, USMC.  And you?"

The postman extended his hand, "Roarke Driscoll, Postal Worker."

Jayce quirked his eyebrow, "An honest to God Postman, eh?"

"Yeah, I read David Brin's novel a couple years back.  He was wrong about the majority of the Preppers, but he was right about keeping the postal service alive though.  It's why I am here; I was looking for civilization in the area.  Glad to see I found some."

"Where are you basing out of?" Jayce asked.

"Shawnee Mission Med Center."

Jayce started laughing, "Booker, arrest him.  He is lieing to us."

Booker swung the axe down and approached menacingly.  Driscoll held his hands up, "Wait, It's true."

"Bullshit," Jayce barked out.  He had his Winchester in hand at this point.  "The hospital was prolly ransacked last month.  Within days of the start of the crisis in fact."

"No, it's not.  The National Guard has secured the hospitals.  Look, I have a letter from Captain Bauers.  He asked me to give copies to any groups I came across.  He explains what happened here, what he is doing here."

Booker motioned to hand over the letter.  Once it was in his hand, he walked over to Jayce and handed it to him in exchange for the lever action rifle Jayce had brought with him.  Jayce slit the envelope open with a knife, and pulled the letter out.

It was on Kansas Army National Guard stationary, though that didn't mean anything to be honest.  The person who wrote the letter might have stolen it from the armory on the other side of the High School.  It was handwritten, which was interesting.  Jayce would have figured it would have been typed instead.  The signature was obviously in a different hand, something which actually helped to establish the credibility of the letter.

Though Jayce was still afraid it was some looter's trick, he needed to trust this.  If a company of National Guard had actually taken up residence at the Hospital, it might still be functioning.  And if there were still postmen travelling it might be possible to slow the fall and hasten the eventual recovery.  Probably not in Jayce's lifetime, but within his children's lifetime perhaps.  It was probably overly optimistic he knew, but if nothing else his grandchildren would live to see a return to some semblance of civilization.

Nodding to himself, Jayce knew he had little choice.  "Okay, Mr. Driscoll, come along.  We might be able to help you.  And I have a letter I need delivered myself."

---

Inside, Driscoll was astounded by what he saw.  This wasn't just some group of people huddling in fear amongst the ruins of the old world, this was a full blown colony of people ready to re-populate the world as soon as they had the chance.

Their supplies were hidden, but what he could see spoke volumes.  The few children in the group seemed somewhat happy.  They were hungry, but not desperately so, and seemed to be getting along in spite of that.  What's more, there were senior citizens who were glancing over casually, and none of them looked neglected or hungry.  The adults looked to have slimmed down some, but that could be stress as much as hunger.

This group might be subsisting on lean rations, but there was no desperation in their eyes.  They were confident and hopeful.  Their questioning glances at Driscoll contained less panic or terror and more the kind of suspicion one gives to a stranger in a bad part of town.  When one of them looked at his jacket with the postal service logo on it and nodded, Driscoll felt odd.

He had run into another colony before he got shot by brigands trying to take his horse, and they had all looked hungry and desperate.  They had almost attacked him as he rode by, and only relented when their leader threatened to beat them if they hurt the postman.  This was a far different situation.

"Everybody gather round." The Marine who had identified himself as Jayce called out.  From the glances he got, he was clearly the leader.  Driscoll only hoped he hadn't taken leadership by force.

"This is Roarke Driscoll, he claims to be a Postman.  He brought us the following letter from a man claiming to be a Captain of the Kansas Army National Guard in charge of the garrison at Shawnee Mission Medical Center."  Jayce brandished the letter.

"From Captain Bauers, Kansas Army National Guard.  To: Whom it may concern."

"I am pleased you are reading this as it means some semblance of civilization remains within the city.  I have secured the hospital and I am pleased to announce that it remains open.  While the loss of power means that it may no longer perform many of the procedures we once took for granted, we are still able to set bones, treat infection, and perform minor surgery."

"While I cannot vouch for the other hospitals, KU Med Center, Overland Park Regional, St. Lukes, the Children's Hospital, and the hospitals on the Missouri side of the State Line have each been secured by a Company of National Guardsmen and their families.  If you are in need of medical service, we urge you to come and we will treat you and your wounds."

"Signed: Captain Blair Bauers"

Jayce let the gathered colony digest the letter, and handed it to Hollister to read it for himself and pass it around.

"I think we need to make a decision.  Do we reach out to the Hospital in case this is real, or do we ignore this for now and pretend we didn't get this letter."

Driscoll gulped.  He knew the implied threat buried within that statement.  If they decided he was a liar working for a bunch of looters, this could turn very ugly very quick;

A young man Jayce's age with a little girl on his knee spoke up first, "Jayce, I think we both know how important this would be if it's true.  I read The Postman because you suggested it, whatever I may think of David Brin."

"And don't forget A Canticle for Leibowitz." The young woman at his side responded, "Or Alas, Babylon."

Heads nodded at that.  The man who had identified himself as Booker looked a little more cautious, "I don't know.  I wasn't in here when the storm hit like you guys were, I was out there during the worst of the looting early on.  I didn't see a single man I knew to be a Postman actually keeping his appointed rounds."

Driscoll winced at that.  Most of the postal workers had been all too human and abandoned their rounds.  Driscoll had had a partner at the beginning, but he had not heard from Mary since they got separated in the ambush on the other side of I-35.  That might have helped instill some confidence in these people if he had.  Then again, it might convince them they were bandits.  Either way, Driscoll was getting more nervous by the moment.

The young woman who seemed to be Jayce's partner as leader held up her hand, "I know I haven't been out of the High School for much, what with Jayce asking me to act as an arbiter and all, but why not actually send a small delegation up to the hospital to check?  Or, if that is too risky, why not just send Arturius?  He is the fastest rider in the entire group."

Jayce paused at that.  "Good idea, Becca.  Everyone, write out your letters and then give them to Becca.  Arthur, Booker, go with her and watch her like a hawk."

Becca looked excited though an older woman who looked like her mother was not.  "And why does Rebecca have to go?"

"Because she is the most diplomatic person in our group, she is the one who would best represent us, and she is a great judge of character."

Arturius broke in there, "Wait she is?  Then why is she dating you?"

Jayce sent him a death glare, but Arturius just laughed, "If anyone will be able to determine if these guys are on the level, it will be her."

Turning, he addressed Driscoll, "If you are lieing to us - or if anything happens to them - I will hunt you down myself, and I WILL kill you.  Are we understood Mr. Driscoll."

"Perfectly, Sir."

"Don't call me 'Sir'," Jayce responded as if by reflex, "I have work I have to do."

Oh yeah, Driscoll thought to himself, this guy was definitely a Sergeant in the Marines.

K-7 Highway North to Atchison

21 September 2013

"Well, that was interesting," Driscoll thought to himself as he rode his horse out of town.  Thankfully, he had managed to recruit a few of the teenagers at the Hospital too help him out, but this seemed important.

Jayce had mentioned a novel he had never read, A Canticle for Leibowitz, fairly often.  It seemed like an important book to him.  The letter he had written had sealed the deal.

Jayce had written two letters.  One was to Driscoll apologizing for being suspicious, while the other had been a letter for him to take - personally - to the abbey in Atchison.  Before the war it would have taken him a couple hours to get there.  Now, it would be a full day ride there and a full day ride back.

Driscoll couldn't help but sigh again.  At least Jayce had promised him a bar of chocolate and a 50 ml bottle of vodka for every day he was away.  Jayce had even handed him a couple First Strike Rations and a gallon of dried corn.  This was important to him.

Little did Driscoll know he would be in Atchison for a week and a half due to that letter.