M o u n t a i n H o l d - Warning Adult Content!!!

Watch Ryder

If the works of Robert E. Howard, Tolkien and Heinlen are your thing, then step this way. It has been described as a Lord of the Rings type-saga set in the future that is War of the Worlds esque...

Prologue

[FONT=&quot]A strange blue light in the skies heralded what became known as The Collapse or The Fall. It mysteriously rose up in the northern hemisphere of Terra, and, after rising by day and falling again at night, the dismantling effects to the world’s civilizations had begun. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Complex microprocessors, circuits and satellites were rendered useless. The blackouts descended, as nearly everything from power stations downwards went haywire, amid a cascade of internal failures and overloads.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]In previous times, there had been great caches of food and supplies for months on end. Yet the strange wisdom of more recent governments saw an end to that safeguard as a more lucrative, mercantile mentality took hold. Shipping, aviation and modern trucking ground to a halt thus exposing the great flaw to the 'just-in-time-delivery' model now relied upon by all major cities of the world.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT][FONT=&quot]As the money machines went blank and the lights went out, the horror show was unleashed. Each night had seen the blue light fade away only to return again the next morning. Only the wisest, most prepared, luckiest and those utterly ruthless enough could survive each new day.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Within a few weeks the Blue Sun vanished but the world below had shifted and changed. Old governments were eclipsed by fresher, younger, more defiant and independent factions in their wake. Nevertheless there were dark forces now awakened and keen to press on with their agenda regardless.[/FONT]

Chapter 1

G e l s t o w n

[FONT=&quot]

M i k e Oakley stood over six feet tall with beaming hazel-green eyes. In his early fifties and resembling that of the pioneer, he was akin to that of a mountain man. His face was worn with time and hard adventuring in his youth. Despite this, even in middle age he had the charisma to light up a room with his own brand of appeal and charm. Mousy-colored hair that was cropped short contrasted his full red beard. [/FONT][FONT=&quot]
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[FONT=&quot]So far his zeal had been blunted and eroded from the time spent at Gelstown. It was fair to say that he and his fifty or so companions were on the verge of either going down the broad, easy path of servitude or a new way entirely.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]This day in the town did not see him take up a despondent manner brooding at the gun ports. Instead, as evening moved to night time, he had the people loyal to him gather around. [/FONT][FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]For too long now the place of Gelstown had changed. It had gone from comfortable confines, to smothering regulations and finally to a walled prison. Like a shepherd guiding his flock Oakley laid out his plan—a breakout.[/FONT][FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]“We've been treated like cattle and you all know it's going to get worse. These[/FONT][FONT=&quot] meddling covenants of the magistrates are just the start,[/FONT][FONT=&quot]” he said and no one could disagree. The friendly welcome they'd received as refugees from their broken-down convoy did not last long before the regulations came out against them. [/FONT][FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]The leader continued.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“I didn't lead you from the lost cities and towns to be treated in this way. I thought it would get better while we rested but they wish us all to be slaves in their warped and caring way. A safe place in the mountains is what I promised all of you before this mess started. Well now's the time we honor that oath!” he spoke to them lustily.[/FONT][FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]“But what is this place you had us follow you for then Mike?” a father of two spoke with a hiss. “By going with you we ended up being stranded in the convoy. Then you led us here where we are disarmed and practically slaves! How can going up into your mountains be safer?” [/FONT][FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]“It is more than mere mountains!” Oakley responded with gritty passion. “The Mountain Hold I speak of is an ideal as well as a new home, a place safe from anything the world can throw at us. We can settle it, we keep it, we can own land without taxes and most of all...” Oakley paused to gesture to them. “We never again let corrupt leaders control us with their slavish ways like here! Tomorrow night is when it happens. All I ask of you is to follow my lead and we can break out of this prison, then head to sanctuary and freedom.” Oakley paused again to look upon faces of relief and anticipation. He continued on what they had to do next.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“The armory and the main gate are the two key areas. Elias, you must overpower the guard at the armory and retrieve the weapons there that were seized from us. Jerome is standing sentry—he gets on with you, lower his guard then do what needs to be done.” Oakley held his gaze on the burly Elias McKaiser for a few moments. McKaiser nodded understanding what he had to do. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]The main gate though was something of a serious obstacle. With no real cover it would be risky to attempt subterfuge. Killing anyone in the town was not what Oakley wanted. Not only would the death of a Gelstown citizen mean a harsh pursuit once they were on the road to freedom, but any noisy gunfire would have the whole town up in arms. He looked upon his decoy — May Wilkinson. She was often called 'Young May' due to her alluring youthful looks. As one of the unmarried blonde beauties recently turned twenty-one; she had no shortage of suitors. May was a bit young for Oakley's bones, but the young gate sentry would be more than easily bewildered and 'appropriate' for her wiles. When Oakley's gaze fell on her a few of the wise ones chuckled inwardly, realizing what was meant for her. Oakley continued.[/FONT][FONT=&quot]
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[FONT=&quot]“For the main gate I need you Young May to distract that sentry, I've noticed him looking at you with the lust in his eye. Distract him while Athias waits to strike and you'll be our key for getting out of here.” Oakley winked with a smile, making May Wilkinson blush, for she secretly liked Oakley a little but let no other know it.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]At the allotted hour Oakley's Folk gathered in the shadows. Apart from Oakley no one had been allowed to own firearms since the confiscations. Oakley buckled on his leadership 'privilege' of a revolver sidearm and loaded up the custom Ruger double-action to capacity. He had nine shots of .22LR subsonic if he had to kill. He wasn't hoping on late-night killing but the sentries were armed and they'd only get one chance at escape. If the ruse failed then storming the armory and gateway by force was the only alternative. He put a spare revolver cylinder with magnum loads into his ancient combat jackets pocket.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Although the night was balmy and calm Oakley had warm clothing packed for the high ground. He hefted his backpack and tugged at the straps until it was comfortable. It contained enough MRE rations for three days. A canteen of water, gold and silver coins for trading along other survival gear. With his muted combat jacket and a broad brimmed hat he cut quite the appearance. The others wore attire of a civilian nature for the most part; jeans, sweaters and shirts of sober colors.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Does everyone have enough food? At least three days’ worth?” Oakley asked them all. They nodded.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]The gathered folk of Oakley then waited as May Wilkinson moved up towards the gateway.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]The walls adjacent there were not true ramparts but instead had firing ports and ladders here and there. There were no guards either apart from the one nearby. Most were concentrated at the magistrates’ town hall area. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Without fear May began to charm the gate sentry with seemingly innocent airs and graces that came about her. Around the beguiled man’s neck was a whistle, but any thoughts of using it were far indeed as she had the young man totally captivated. Meanwhile stealthy movements came from the right of the pair.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]With determined movements Athias Drennan advanced on the guard, hugging the wall silently and totally flattened against it as he went closer. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT][FONT=&quot]Drennan swung at the sentry with a wooden stave of two by four. The first blow was almost a glancing one as it cracked off his skull but he swung again once more with a backhand strike across the man's temple and he went down in a slumping manner.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT][FONT=&quot]“Sorry about that May,” he mumbled as she recoiled at the suddenness of it all. Drennan checked the guard for a pulse and found it slowly throbbing. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT][FONT=&quot]“He's alive May,” he said with a low voice. “Come on, it's done now, we're free! Go to your shelter and retrieve all what you need, move quickly now!”[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT][FONT=&quot]Oakley watched her move away and he gestured to the others that the way was clear. They all came hastily out with what belongings they had. Now only the armory remained and it was up to Barber and McKaiser to take care of business.[/FONT]


[FONT=&quot]“How'd you manage to keep this from being fried?” Jerome asked McKaiser with a lurid look in his eye. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]McKaiser tapped at his small touchscreen device showing Jerome that it still functioned properly. Most were useless paperweights and coasters after the Blue Sun had done its work. Yet here was one showing all sorts of stuff; women, blueprints and landscapes.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT][FONT=&quot]“You've heard of a Faraday Cage haven't you?” McKaiser said trying to angle the man away from Barber's position. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT][FONT=&quot]“I think so, isn't that something those crazy survivalists used to talk about?” Jerome gawped as more lurid images came on the screen.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“It sure is,” McKaiser chuckled at the irony.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Barber now snuck in fully behind Jerome with a speed and fluidity that even surprised his accomplice. Barber's chokehold took violent effect as Jerome's eyes bulged first with shock then faded to unconsciousness. The guard slumped down. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“I can see why Oakley made you his champion,” McKaiser said with Germanic humor. Like the first man at the gate, Jerome was[/FONT][FONT=&quot] quickly gagged and hog-tied.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]His keys were seized and they waved to the shadows where ten more of their number came out and moved in to the doorway, there they waited while McKaiser and Barber headed inside.[/FONT][FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Both had working flashlights and found their way about gingerly and discretely. The armory was split into two areas. Weapons were in the main room on three shelves that ran around the walls in full view. The only separate room in the concrete building was labeled up as the ammunition store. Focusing on the weapons first they sought out their captured arms.[/FONT][FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]A majority of their weapons were tried and true bolt-action rifles and revolvers. Yet folks like Barber, McKaiser plus a few others had the black rifle and less common types. Barber went to the ammunition room while McKaiser analyzed the long gun weapons.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Alright, the bolt-guns are all here near enough but...” McKaiser said, his words trailing off as he made a double check of his weapons list against what he could find. “My Beretta ARX is gone, as is Danley's Mini-14 along with Athias's Benelli. Plus three AKs, two AR-15s, and Drennan’s SKS.”[/FONT][FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Barber swore. “Those assholes sure like to make out they're the more equal in the equality scam.” He swallowed his anger and found the right key to unlock the armory's ammunition room. Inside was a trove of ammunition for the weapons. He went back to the weapons area and chose the side containing mostly pistols to search through.
[/FONT][FONT=&quot]
[/FONT][FONT=&quot]“No doubt some of our weapons are in the magistrate’s compound,” McKaiser said.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Well let's make up with what else we find here then.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“I hear that. But let's not empty the place too much though Barb. There's plenty of other firearms and ammo cached at the Hold. As much as I despise this town it wouldn't be right to leave it defenseless,” McKaiser said sagely.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Barber said nothing but seethed morosely. His prized sidearm — a high-grade HK Mk23 was gone also, fouling his mood further. Thirty seconds of checking the racks saw him source an exotic trio of sidearms with spare magazines. A CZ-85, a Calico Liberty and a Walther PPK now sated his earlier loss.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“That lot should help make up for it,” he stoically muttered.
[/FONT][FONT=&quot]
[/FONT][FONT=&quot]“Hey, I've found your FAL,” McKaiser said. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]It was half-hidden in a corner and as he li[FONT=&quot]f[/FONT]ted it out he noticed Oakley's trusty .30-06 rifle. “Oakley's Remington is here too.” He passed out the battle rifle and hunting rifle to Barber. Like most of the long guns in the armory the slings were thankfully still in place making their carriage easier. The rest of their weapons were grouped then wrapped together speeding the job up.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]McKaiser glanced at his mechanical wristwatch. “Three more minutes,” He called to Barber. “We don't want everyone weighed down too much. Two more loads and that's it.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Next was the ammo. Several more bags were filled with ammo boxes, pouches and magazines were sorted together before they too were ferried out.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]McKaiser saw about a third of the Gelstown arsenal back into rightful hands and soon the arsenal was distributed to those waiting at the gateway.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Then they were away, a bold one of their number managed to retrieve some luxury goods from an adjoining warehouse to the armory before he too ran pell-mell into the night with them.
[/FONT][FONT=&quot]
[/FONT][FONT=&quot]Gelstown had a lone vehicle that still worked but stealing it was no option for them. There were far too many of them to escape on it and it was jealously guarded next to the magistrates’ quarters at the town hall. Yet by the same token the magistrates would not be able to hunt them down with it, for an armed group of over fifty was a fearsome prospect for one pickup carrying less than ten.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]By the morning’s light when the sentries were discovered the tyrannical magistrates found Oakley and all his people had fled. With little bloodshed aside from the two guards and most of their arms remaining they did not feel compelled to chase after them. Besides which, the magistrates inwardly knew that their people were not the fighters that Oakley’s Folk were.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]“Let them be gone then,” the Master Magistrate proclaimed loudly with pompous outrage to the assembled townspeople. The blue-garbed magistrates looked hard for signs of dissent from the unarmed people.
[/FONT][FONT=&quot]
[/FONT][FONT=&quot]“It’s much safer here and they’ll return, begging to be let back in. And when they do they'll find things much different for them!” he sneered.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT][FONT=&quot]The docile, nodding heads of acceptance agreed wearily but Oakley and his folk did not turn back. The town's greedy rulers continued their suicidal intentions to those that remained and their subtle agenda of chattel slavery progressively continued[/FONT].

[FONT=&quot]For Oakley and his folk there was a long journey ahead of them, yet there was still hope waiting for them there. For an advanced element had been sent on ahead to the Mountain Hold several weeks before the Blue Sun arrived just as the spring snows were melting.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT][FONT=&quot]Before Oakley’s Folk could even reach the Hold they had nearly twenty miles of undulating flatland before the Rocky Hills started. Then after the hills they had another sixty miles of travel along the high plains before reaching the local town of Tonswater. Finally only twelve more miles after the town would see them into the citadel-like White Mountains and at the Mountain Hold itself. Even then they had to establish a mountain settlement before winter. This at least could be formed easily from the winter quarters hopefully pre-built or started on by the scouting force.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]After they'd spent another two days and nights of travel on the road north, the real tiredness was setting in. Nobody looked back to Gelstown.

[FONT=&quot]This Work is [FONT=&quot]C[/FONT]opyrigh[FONT=&quot]t[/FONT] to Tyler Danann[/FONT][/FONT]

Watch Ryder

Chapter 2

Oakley's Road

Mike Oakley was once a soldier and even though his aging bones were beginning to bother him he still had ‘The Old Fire’ as he called his tireless spirit pushing him on. He had a close brotherhood of companions within his followers as a whole and they stuck to him like a lodestone. As long as he was well, so were they. They weren't just from one town or city either for he'd traveled across many areas of the country and beyond before the collapse.

Known as Oakley's Rangers they were ex-military or survivalists for the most part. The Scout-Rangers within them were more self-sufficient, independent-minded and deadly marksmen. The other sub-faction within the Rangers were the Range Warriors who preferred more general, close-quarter fighting. They both typified the essence of the volunteer warrior more than the state-driven soldier and kept raiders at bay whenever it looked like they threatened. The other armed fighters of the group tended to be the general-purpose Armsmen—those that were prepared and willing enough to survive the coming trials and hardships. Then there were the newest and most vulnerable followers called The Crafters; tradesman and artisan-types that were perhaps the most vital of all for the long-term.

Merit was rewarded with more trust from the group as a whole and it was Oakley's intention that their community would thrive as a meritocracy. Such a thing was the cornerstone of any European civilization or at least it was until the rotten ways of more recent times had set in.

It was the Rangers and Armsmen who helped hold his followers together through thick and thin. During their 'sojourn' in Gelstown they made up the core of those who kept the bullying magistrates from intruding too much into their lives. Oakley looked over to some of them now reminding him of their ways.

William Danley, an Armsman, was the short and tough Colorado ranch-hand who’d seen the writing on the wall like Oakley had. His everyman approach and general charisma ensured a good cohesive way permuted through them. Danley had contributed richly to the distant Mountain Hold area before the fall. His skill did not stop at being wealthy either for he was a jack-of-all-trades.

Elias McKaiser was the artisan, mechanic and all-round fix-it man. His rigid, Germanic ways often grated against Oakley’s more intuitive and libertarian basis yet they tolerated each other. Sometimes they could have entertaining exchanges which developed into a clash of ideas and even into a new way of looking at something.

Alexander Barber was an enigma for he didn't talk that much. Oakley was glad to have him on their side though. Fair of hair and with eyes of blue and green he was a true Range Warrior who once served with a long forgotten army unit. He was the best fighter, having a natural skill-at-arms that was uncannily lethal. Barber's personality was more of a brooding predator though, indeed that of a lone wolf at heart. Born and raised in the mountains of Nevada he was Heathen to the bone, keeping true to the old ways.

The Rangers were an inner circle in the loosest way though; Oakley held no love of cliques or elitism beyond surviving and thriving the post-apocalypse. There were others at the Hold waiting for them, yet he could not be bothered to think of them now being so far away.

The Rangers and Armsmen were mostly single aside from Danley whose wife traveled at his side with the main group. Most of the rest were with family and friends among the Crafting peoples. Their age ranged from the youngest teenager to folks Oakley's age and beyond. Indeed the latter of the three groups were a good counterbalance to the more aggressive and survivalist ways of the Rangers. Now they walked in a long column that steadily pushed on with him leading at the forefront of it.

Nearby to his side were the most experienced Armsmen, away from them were the Rangers who looked outward with heads watching the formless horizon and mid-ground. They moved in small groups loosely spread out ahead and to the flanks acting as an outer perimeter to the vulnerable column.

As the terrain became more arduous and rugged Oakley drew them in closer. He did not want them becoming too isolated and exposed upon the treacherous landscape. As the elevation increased it became much harder for them to keep pace with the main group. Overall their fortune seemed to be shining down, as either no raiders were on their path or they presented too strong a force to be tangled with. Several times distant figures appeared some way off, in groups of about six to a dozen or more. Each time, on seeing the defending Rangers watching them like hawks and ready to respond the danger passed safely.

Yet fatigue, strict food rationing and the aches of travel were their companions now.

Over every hill seemed to be another stretch of road into the distance and beyond that stretch of road seemed to be another hill. Most of them had blistered feet by now and Danley’s trephining method of draining the liquid from the blister sores provided an effective, if painful remedy. They were edging closer to Tonswater little by little.

When their food supplies turned scarce any farm-buildings within sight became a source of supply. The abandoned ones were carefully scavenged and those with occupants cautiously bartered with. Some had signs posted warning that none should go beyond the fence-line boundary and would be met with armed families keen to do trade. Others were not even neutral and at two separate farm compounds the approaching Rangers were fired at with warning shots. No trading was done there and Oakley’s Folk marched on.


About half of his followers knew the basics of fending for themselves in the wilderness though. Only a few were pure city dwellers and for them they'd either learn the hard way or be swept aside by the experience.

Already one family refused to continue on the fourth day of their flight from Gelstown. A friendly farming community took them in instead. Another day passed and another family departed. This time heading west and preferring to take their chances in the direction of the setting sun. Oakley wished them luck and didn't look back at them.

The worst ‘departure’ from the group was the pact suicide of a family which occurred on the night of the fifth day. Poison pills were their choice, but a handgun from the father finished the job quickly. By the time the two sentries appeared it was too late.

Oakley inwardly knew them to be too delicate for the ardors of post-apocalyptic America. He said nothing out of respect though as their friends grieved and dug shallow graves. Gelstown would have been the slow death compared to the quicker one of suicide he grimly surmised.

While in Gelstown they'd heard suicides were common elsewhere. The magistrates of course would make an agenda of it, saying that in Gelstown they were secure and safe, no need for misery or strife. Oakley often wondered if perhaps it was better that some people were better off in other worlds. For as the world of Terra now turned with the ages so too must others turn with it.

The next day would mark their entry into Wyoming, a spiritual homeland for Oakley and one that would help decide the destiny of thousands.


People had called Oakley an eccentric, a crazy oddball and worse when he'd bought and prepared the mountain land. This was several decades before any actual collapse had occurred. Yet the decline was ever present for all the while the same critics were themselves wallowing in the crazed, exciting decadence consuming the nations. Materialism and mass consumerism may have had a place somewhere, but not from where Oakley saw the world taking them.

“They were a bunch of damned hypocrites back in those times!” shouted Oakley during what some called his 'night rages.' They were necessary outbursts made against the ills of the pre-collapse world. “As long as their minds were masturbated well enough with lies and filth they couldn't care less about this land and liberty.”

His folk were not alarmed by this as they could see that he was channeling the suppressed and hidden frustrations of them all and giving it a voice to truly get things into the open. It was also a way of cautioning them for future times so hopefully the same mistakes would not happen again, or at least not in such a damaging way.

In those early times Mike Oakley had done what most survivalists and preppers would have considered unthinkable. He’d welcomed more than a few of the ‘unprepared’ or 'sheeple' into his world and given them a chance to start anew. It was this decision which initially vexed a few of his Rangers and Armsmen who grumbled about it for a time. Yet as their numbers grew and the Crafter's skill showed they proved their worth in many ways and the complaints gave way to respect.

Over the next few days the periodic milestones told them to be half-way to Tonswater, lending extra reserves of energy to their strained limbs.

What filtered through from the few travelers they encountered was that the chaos enveloping the land had begun to settle into equilibrium. The independent states of the nation were now shifting more to geological and territorial boundaries. Some, especially in the north-east were ruled by what was left of a paramilitary government force and a loose city coalition.

At the southern border though nearly all the land had been invaded by hordes of Mestizo folk supported by hardcore La Raza-types along with other mixtures swept along by the chaos. Many cities collapsed entirely as rampant gang conflicts, a lack of drinking water from broken treatment plants saw a misery of death. Other areas like the non-coastal, Pacific Northwest fared better. Idaho, parts of Oregon and Montana becoming both respected and feared with their fiercely independent militias. To a smaller extent this trended out into Wyoming and eastern Washington. For Oakley the Mountain Hold was itself likely to become a quasi-militia settlement of sorts, albeit steered more towards thriving self-sufficiency than that of the militarism he so despised.

They were just entering the Wyoming plains when a meaningful exchange took place.

It was just before midday and a strange old woman was waiting for them at the side of the road off to the left. She'd come out from a ramshackle cabin built against a hillside and nearby a few hardy crops were recently harvested. Further ahead about a mile away was a ranch with deer grazing on it.

“Oakley!” she hailed him several times, making a sign to the head with his name. Oakley responded with an outstretched hand in the air showing who he was.

“Ho' to you there woman!” he answered boldly.

The old one once had fair hair that had now gone gray and her glazed eye’s shone with a divine madness Oakley recognized.

He went forward to her alone, waving back a curious Drennan and Barber. Once he got close enough she spoke her wisdom to him.

“Strange times you come into Oakley. The light has risen and fallen many score 'o times,” she spoke with a faint rasping to her voice.

“What do you know of this strange blue light that changes a thing from what once was?” he questioned evenly, wondering if this woman knew more than she let on.

“It came out of Terra’s pole to the far north and takes us on into a new age,” she said low enough so only he could hear. “It is a turning of the wheel, a Time of the Wolf. You and your kinsmen must be ready for any confrontation that it brings.”

“Old one, I go to the mountains over beyond with my folk to weather out the storm, not to wage any kind of war or strife. I've prepared for survival all my life not to lose it carelessly,” he said, being careful not to give away exact details.

“There is much even you do not know of. Many of the vile ones in power that could not take the change have ended their miserable lives or rot in the dark tombs.”

“Good riddance to them, I've fought in their wars and now the fair folk of this world can get on with their lives again without intrusion. As will I also to live out my days in peaceful seclusion. Let the wolf run free,” Oakley said stating his purpose. He was eager to resume his march. What more could this woman, however wise, know that he did not know already?

She sensed this and gripped his arm. The move alarmed Barber who almost raised his rifle like it was a wand, then paused when she froze and looked at him for a moment then spoke again.

“Your faction is the wolf and it is ready, but are you Oakley?”

“What must we face?” he questioned tensely.

“Dark forces beyond that of the surface powers remain. They hate all what you and your people stand for and are determined to conquer the world by force. You must be ready to fight.”

“I know of them. This is the true way of things, there must always be an opponent or else risk one being created from within. By fighting the external foe we become stronger and by it not defeating us we can go on to greater things,” Oakley responded with hard wisdom. Hearing the words from him the woman relaxed her grip.

“There are those with you that will be a great force for good in the world. Seeing you coming along this road gives me hope that perhaps all is not lost. Perhaps there can be a new Atlantis or Agartha in this land Oakley?”

“You know much that is hidden wise woman, can you walk with us? We are halfway to my Mountain Hold and I can carry you if need be?” Oakley offered generously. His distant domain would no doubt benefit from such a gifted psyche.

“Hah!” she laughed. “My time is already past. Besides which too many cooks there can spoil the broth,” she added cryptically.

Oakley frowned at the response and fell silent.

“Fare thee well Oakley,” she turned and went back to her dwelling.

“And unto you wise one,” he spoke looking back to the others.

Danley and Drennan now approached Oakley along with Barber who glassed the distant ranch compound with binoculars. To do so with his rifle scope could risk being shot.

The place was more like a farming ranch with harvested crops in a field off to the northwest.

“What was that all about Mike? She a witch?” Danley said warily touching his cross.

“Possibly of that craft,” Oakley responded neutrally.

Barber took some umbrage to Danley's words and lowered his field-glasses.

“She is a Vyla, a wise empath,” Barber spoke sharply with a knowing look in his eye. “Before the Burning Times of my ancestors such women were quite common in the world and often advised elder folk and layperson alike. They cast runes, vision wandered and much more to give us wisdom. Then came the times of the Testifier and his people's distorted ways...” Barber gave a gloomy look back at Danley.

Danley swore and was about to argue with pointed finger but their leader stepped between them.

“William! Alexander! Peace the two of you!” Oakley said boldly, giving a rare command. “Your division is our strength but not at the cost of us fighting each other!”

Danley had been brought up in a religious family and himself had once been a pastor, strongly moving to the ways of humility, monolithic unity and cohesion.

Barber was that of another way, being that of an orphan who, through a journey of harsh self-discovery, had found his own path with that of the rugged deist. With the polytheistic Heathen deities of the Aesir, Vanir and All-Father guiding him he was no man to cross. Nearly a third of Oakley’s Folk followed the Heathen ways, the rest were either that of the monolithic Testifier God or were Dualistic and undecided.

Yet Danley and Barber respected one another, despite their occasional clashes on the ways of The Beyond and especially the 'Burning Times.' For many Heathen people in Europa were forcibly converted, for better or worse, often at torch, torture and sword point back in those ancient days.

The strange female had completely vanished now into her hovel shack and there was nothing else to do but move on. Danley and Barber shook hands first and then they went over to the nearby farm-ranch. A friendly sign on a placard was nearby. The sign offered trade and barter raising their spirits and empty stomachs.

With hands raised and friendly shouts they hailed the occupiers there. Three families emerged from the farm's inner-compound gateway—the men of the house being well armed and wearing body armor. From the looks on their faces a way of careful respect radiated.


The night was a fair one and the farm folk allowed them space and sanctuary to pitch camp. They traded and refilled their bags with what provisions could be spared.

The main family that lived there the longest shared what news they'd learned. From their shielded radio and journal the man of the house had made diligent recordings of all he'd heard. Oakley and his survivors were the first he'd seen on the road since the Blue Sun and he was keen to share all he knew. As he spoke and rambled Oakley perused and poured over the journal learning all he could from it.

The early troubles in the cities were initially ignored and brushed over by the authorities like wallpaper over rotten cracks. Then as it got worse there was a kind of madness, one that saw a warped sense of order hold sway. Burned-out cars were given parking tickets, dead bodies left out for ambulances that never came and the failing of the police to contain the lawlessness saw them form enclaves around their own neighborhoods and precincts. As the video feed from the internet began to fail a feral wave of violence looked to be taking hold in several of the coastal megalopolises.

Strange, violent beasts were reported to be ravaging areas near to the Great Lakes and across the Great Plains. According to the terrified news anchors they were altogether different from the ones nature produced. Oakley paused with a feeling of dread for unknown reasons. He was no animal hater, but if the tales were true he vowed to keep such things away from the Hold.

Rumors and theories on the Blue Sun ranged from some unknown force unleashing apocalyptic forces to it being a subtle bioweapon by a hostile power.

City folks in the congested coastal zones had progressively turned rabid and, like an overflowing dish of bacteria, now consumed itself. They turned on each other like dogs, some even said to be consuming flesh such was the lack of sustenance after mere days of the collapse. Or perhaps they ate each other anyway due to a wild nature from within being aroused fully?

With the lack of fuel trucks and food wagons it only took two days of panic buying and then looting to strip most of a city dry. Oakley had heard from some farms they passed that the medium-sized cities had become practically no-go areas ruled by savage warlords who’d stripped their own city’s bare then, like sucking parasites, sent out raiding army’s to fuel their base needs.

The journal continued on more specific details closer to the area. A town far to the east had made a living on ‘Time-Bonding’ or indenturing folk unfortunate enough to be captured by them. Another, to the west, had gone the other way of simply plundering all from the countryside in one direction and then selling off the booty to nearby towns and villages allied to them.

Greater occurrences were manifesting outside of the American continent. England had now become a three-tier society with a police state providing a bulwark of ruthless control during the breakdown. In the countryside military families and Yeomanry took control there as best they could. Some, closer to London than others, paid furtive lip service allegiance to the reclusive monarchy fortified in Windsor Castle. The ageing king was rumored to have fled the country by some, making it a distant oath indeed. The land was being increasingly referred to as Albion; its former ancestral name.

Mainland Europe was more of a madhouse, with cities teeming with immigrants running rampant in capital cities and spilling out into the countryside. Some nations were affected more than others but in general it was serious strife followed by a sporadic breakdown.

Oakley usually cared little of what took place outside his own landmass. What became of Europa’s now fractioning nations concerned Oakley though. As the birthplace of his bloodline it irked him that the mistakes they made were later repeated by his own elected rulers.

Oakley closed the journal and let sleep claim him for a few hours.


The next morning they were up early and packed their things away to a clear sunrise with a chilly wind. Before leaving Oakley handed four silver coins in thanks to the families there. He felt a distant kinship to them. In their own way, they were prepared survivalists still willing to honor the ancient ways of hospitality to strangers. He warned them though that tyrannical magistrates from Gelstown could appear one day and not to let on knowledge of their passing. To his relief the families agreed, understanding well of such matters.

By the end of that day they'd rejoined the main highway road that led to Redmond in the south-east and Tonswater in the north-west. The signature White Mountain range loomed on the horizon—before they could reach it though they had the plains to cross and then the rolling foothills. These ran along the highway a-ways making a curving, ultra-wide valley, only then then would they finally reach the eastern approaches to Tonswater.

Watch Ryder

Chapter 3

Passage

After three more days of travel they were among the valley plains facing west. Lush green trees marked the river Tonswater and they bloomed up in the distance, partially shrouding the town from view.


Drennan and two other scouts were already out taking a look ahead of them. Drennan reported back with news.


“No raiders Oak. But there’s a militia garrison protecting the town,” Drennan told him. “Also, just at the bridge’s tree line, they've got a checkpoint.”


Another scout showed up to ramble. “The guards at the checkpoint want a fee before we can pass, a toll they're callin' it!”


All now looked to Oakley on the next move they should make.


“All right then, let’s go speak to them about getting us on home,” Oakley said grimly. He took out his revolver and removed the cylinder of .22LR subsonic and replaced it with his spare one of more potent .22WMR. The magnum caliber was capable of chewing through standard body armor.


He holstered it again and led his people towards the toll booth.


It was a simple wooden barrier affair with a counter tilt to raise it up. About two hundred and fifty yards away, over the River Tonswater and bridge was another gateway that led into the town itself. There was a low wall nearing completion would soon make a defensive ring around the town. Laborers were hammering and digging footings in various places as the look of a stronghold took form. The nearby trees that ran along the river gave the semblance of a secondary wooden wall.


Three guards were gathered there at the checkpoint and faced them apprehensively. Some of his own rangers waited for him on the wilderness side.


“What’s the toll to pass through?” Oakley said flatly taking in their measure. The guard he addressed carried a Mosin-Nagant rifle with telescopic sights. The other two had AR Rifles. One with an AR-15 and the third he couldn't be sure of, possibly an AR-180.


“Welcome to Tonswater. Five bullets or half a pound of food from each of you please,” the first guard rattled off like he'd said it more than a hundred times. On his jacket was the name 'Sercout' and his accent and features were Portuguese. All of them wore a patch with the letters 'WM' crudely stitched onto the left breast.


“And if we can't or won't do this?” Oakley challenged defiantly.
Sercout was taken aback and hesitated.


“Either give the toll or get back south,” the third guard said with a hostile manner. He stepped forward and nudged the first guard aside. He was a fair-haired man with hard eyes, a sardonic manner and an above average build. He had the belligerence of a boxer. Unlike the other two he carried a black sidearm in a beige leather holster.


“Your call,” he declared to them.


Oakley knew they were likely to be part of the militia force—more aggressive than humble homesteaders but usually without the vile predations of a raider. They filled a vital niche offering their defensive services to towns and villages, especially those without any fighting force to defend it. Oakley admired the militia concept but the devil was in the details, extortion and advantages were often never far away under a roguish leader.


Oakley nodded and pulled out from his own pack a small bundle of dried jerky. He passed it to the guard who took it and dropped it into a large haversack hung up on a peg.


“Now let all of us pass and enough of this tolling.” Oakley smiled trying to get inside the man's personal space, hoping to sway him with force of will alone. Wary of Oakley the man stepped back and raised his hand in a warding way.


“This ain't enough for all of you and don't play games with me!” the guard sneered shaking his head. “We've already had to turn away dozens of refugees from Redmond two weeks ago. They'd have bled us dry and worse if we'd of let 'em in.”


A feeling of tension was arising in the air. One of the Rangers, off to one side was going to say something but Oakley raised his hand, almost with a strange kind of prescience. Then he spoke on, trying a different tack.


“What's your name son?” Oakley asked. The man hesitated for a moment but not wanting to show weakness answered.


“Captain Stuart Webb. I command the militia in Tonswater! Sheriff Connarsby is in overall command with the mayor. I handle things here at the entrances,” Webb stated evenly. His intention was to intimidate but Oakley wasn't shaken at all.


“Well Stu' we're no refugee column,” Oakley said amiably, unfazed by his rank. “We know where we're going and it ain't this town either. We just want to pass through and be on our way.”


“Then pay your fuc—” Webb began to say when Oakley cut him off with a raised voice like thunder.


“NO! I am Mike Oakley of the White Mountains over west! I’ve spent over twenty years coming through this town, spending coin on whatever I needed which was oftentimes. That is your toll that covers every man, woman and child with me right now!” Oakley now spoke with a loud iron to his voice that shocked the guards—even Webb was rattled.


The militia captain wasn't expecting that. He figured him for a meek old fatherly man the others looked to for advice but not leadership. Oakley began to focus on the man with his piercing vision. The effect rattled Webb's two men and the Rangers were tensed for deadly gunplay. Oakley spoke on.


“Now if this here bag ‘o jerky can’t do for me and my folks then we’ve got a tangle boy, ‘cause we’ve no more food to give but the dust in our packs an’ we'll need our bullets where we’re headed.” Oakley let his hand fall to his trusty Ruger. On his shoulder slung his faithful Remington rifle which he adjusted somewhat with his other hand. As he did so, he gave the bolt a quirky set of three taps with the blade of his hand. The militia guards noticed this vague ritual and a barbed insult nearly passed from Webb's lips, but he held his tongue, knowing it would be wiser not needle the strange old man with deadly eyes.


Oakley gave a gruff sigh. It would be revolver work that would see him through any trouble from the guards. He could confidently take Webb and the second guard quite easily, but his scouts would have to slay the third. He sincerely wished avoidance of any bloodshed though; it was easier to go around by fording the river further northwards than ruining relations with the town. Trade and aid might well be needed in future times, on the other hand he didn't like to back down during confrontations and neither did Webb.


There was a silence from the Tollway guards as Oakley and Webb faced down one another. Oakley's iron will against Webb's firm conviction.


A short little townsman curiously wandered over from the construction works to see what the story was. Webb turned to him.


“Go get Randy will ya?” Webb gestured.


The short one scurried away through the main gate and up to the town trading post. Oakley's spirits rose slightly at the new development. That 'Randy' would no doubt be Randy Holzer who was well-known to him from the days prior to The Collapse. He and a few others in his group had often bought groceries and other supplies from the general store before collapse.


About two minutes later Holzer alone came through the gateway of the town and walked over the bridge to them. He was slightly shorter than Oakley with darker hair and broadly overweight, like a football player past his prime. Holzer saw who it was and nodded with a grin.


“You going up to your place?” Holzer said.


Oakley nodded.


“It's ok 'Stu you can raise the barrier. I know this man from before the ****-hit-the-fan,” Holzer spoke to the guard loudly.


Oakley's eyes flashed over to the Captain to see what his move would be.


Sercout slowly leaned down on the counterweight and the gray bar slowly began to rise.


“Wait a second,” Webb said, still keen to have his way. He put a hand down on the bar. “Just him Randy?”


Randy Holzer hesitated for a moment, seeing the long trail of people behind Oakley.


Oakley, seeing the decision in Randy spinning on the balance now spoke hard to the man.


“We've just slogged in from the back of beyond Randy, our vehicles failed on the road near Gelstown with that Blue Sun. Now we've nothing to give but what'll keep us alive on my mountain! If they can't pass, I won't pass,” Oakley called to him, playing his last hand.


Oakley was looking at the river and how it flowed. They'd have to find a crossing point fast or it would be a night trek in getting up to the Hold and at nightfall the White Mountains were no place for newcomers to be blundering about.


The commotion had by now gotten the attention of various town guards and from them the lawman of the town. Sheriff Connarsby stepped out from the spartan police building, put on his hat and went outside town to the crowd at the Toll Booth.


“What's going on here, who are these people?” he asked curiously, not noticing Mike Oakley at first.


Webb and Holzer filled him in on the situation as Oakley waited for the final say. Oakley explained he was taking his folk up to the mountain. Connarsby vaguely recognized Oakley from before The Collapse and mulled on the options to take. Seeing his pause Oakley seized on the sheriff's indecision.


“Sheriff we can barter with Tonswater in weeks to come if you must insist. Yet right now I've got people up there waiting on me and I'm keen to see what's what.”


Connarsby was a mostly fair man and knew an honest man when he saw one and nodded to Oakley. He turned to Webb.


“Alright, they can all pass Stu'. The White Mountains are a close neighbor to us. No toll fee for them,” he shouted so all could hear. “Make sure you unload all those weapons though, I don't want any accidental shooting.”


As Oakley’s Folk did so Webb nodded to Sercout who pushed down fully on the counterweight and the way in to the town was opened.


Oakley smiled his best grizzled looks at the lawman and the militia force, just to let them know he wasn't harboring any grudges, then gave a gesture and his folk marched on into the town. Captain Webb would not meet their gaze though; he'd lost some face holding to his ways. The lawman walked alongside Oakley as they went into town.


“Thanks for that sheriff, I was about to consider going the long way around.”


“I figured you might,” the sheriff laughed, and then they began to palaver.


They spoke curtly to one another at first but the flow of news from afar was more important and soon a rapport of sorts was established.


Raider activity was light and soon, Connarsby told him, the walls would be fully built and with the overlooking watchtower, Tonswater would have superior defenses. Especially when compared to most other towns.


Horses and cattle were kept safe in the southern valley basin and timber was back in fashion, making them a trade source with nearby areas. Plus they had a working powerhouse for electricity.


Oakley kept the details of their recent experiences vague. There was no reason to tell Connarsby everything, besides which he didn't entirely trust the law at the best of times. He knew well the times when government police had committed their outrages in earlier times spoiling his attitude to the police as a whole. Perhaps another time he'd let Connarsby know of Gelstown's ways.


Connarsby spoke on briefly.


“The town radio systems aren't too badly affected now with the stuff that we've got working again. Seems that there's been a big change with things in Europe—they're forming into family factions. Kinda like the militia have done here with town affiliations, but more along the lines of elite families having their own areas of land to look after. Speaking of affiliations Webb's Militia is our guard force. Just over a hundred men and a few women are under his command. But I run the show in Tonswater with Randy Holzer as the town mayor and co-leader. Most of the town is armed, so I know Webby won't try anything.”


Oakley listened calmly but felt a sting of rivalry. The Mountain Hold was only twelve miles away, and the tingling possibility of a future clash somewhere or somehow rang faintly in him.


“I thought most of the militias were active further west and north of here,” he asked Connarsby. “No offense sheriff but Tonswater doesn't seem to have the appeal that larger and richer towns generate.”


“None taken. We got lucky with Webb and his men. They rolled-in from out northwest to do a spell of hunting and trapping, plus some readiness training down in Arizona. Then the Blue Sun hit and they've been stuck here ever since. We've got a few of them helping train the townspeople on weapons, patrolling and guarding the place. They ain't special forces or anything but they're a lot better than nothing.”


Oakley nodded and offered to help.


“If I can get things ready up at my place I might be able to send you some folk down, especially if they can't handle the winter. It shouldn't come to that though,” he suggested amicably.


“Alright, sounds fair as long as they can pull their weight. In seriousness though Oakley we hope to see bartering done sometime. Times are tight, I have a handful of trappers and hunters out gathering food and furs but this is barely enough. Anyway I'll leave you to carry on,” the sheriff said heading back to his station.


Oakley's heart shuddered at the thought of the game animals on the White Mountains being thinned, especially in the autumn months. For now though, that was something for another day. A strange zeal seemed to be running through them like a counter-current, giving extra energy to tired and weary bodies.


Perhaps, Oakley wondered, it was from the White Mountains—her strange energy pulling them home at last.


He looked behind at the weary people following him.


Could they take it he wondered? In the summer it was a fine place but the winter could test a man’s nerves and temperament to breaking point. If someone was, as Oakley liked to label someone weak, a 'cissyman' the likelihood was even greater.


After a brief rest stop for more supplies with barter-trading they left the western gateway of Tonswater behind them. The mountain highway that climbed upwards steadily was deserted and all being well with a brisk pace they'd get to the Mountain Hold just after nightfall.

Watch Ryder

Watch Ryder

Chapter 4

Beforetimes

Nightfall at the sentry position came quickly and with it the creeping cold of early autumn. Scout-Ranger Adwin Leyson gripped his .303 Enfield that little bit harder as a biting wind whirled past. He was a high plains man, somewhat unused to such a mountain climate. All the same there was an adapting quality to him. An even pair of blue eyes emitted an intensity of thought and his medium-high forehead radiated sublime intelligence. While he was not that broad, he was fairly tall at five foot ten and a decent fellow. Hair that was a rare color between blond and auburn showed thickness and a bristling beard hid his rugged, lantern jawline.

Leyson felt it was both awesome and testing living atop the White Mountains but he and the others had come well equipped and prepared to what would become the Mountain Hold. To the untrained eye it appeared like a sheer and sloping mountain valley or gulch, but it was much more than that.

They had waited and waited for Oakley and the others to arrive now for what seemed like ages. Here and there some snippets of information could be snatched from the ether. It was enough to indicate, as Oakley had predicted, one age had ended and another had dawned.

It was Oakley, in his weird precognitive way that had sent them on ahead to the White Mountains. While he completed his work to the south Leyson and his companions had arrived at the Hold in a trio of vehicles. They were loaded to the gills with supplies; food being the primary bulk of their goods. It wasn't much to get the Hold started but it was better than nothing.

After crossing the shallow river-moat they drove up the wooded hillock track to begin the transformation of mountain wilderness into Oakley's vision of a Mountain Hold.

What a sight the wilderness was in the White Mountains! Here and there in the shady areas were patches of thawing snow that lingered. Away all around them were great stretches and swathes of mountain valleys that rose and fell in all directions. Trees were everywhere with vast chunks of dense brown and green as far as the eye could see. Like the coming winter snow, it was certain that they'd never run out of wood such was its unending resource.

Of the wood available there were three types—Englewood Spruce, Subalpine Fir and Ponderosa Pine. The pine tended to be more susceptible to beetle-kill and many were waiting for the winter to claim them though.

Apart from himself and Joey Konrad the other four scouts had never been to the White Mountain range before, nor had they been so high up in the world. The elevation of the Mountain Hold was at the cusp of human capacity for long-term living. Any higher and most men would struggle to cope with the lack of oxygen content. As it was the altitude was about nine thousand feet above sea level which was pushing it.

Up in the mountain there was less noise and distraction from the urban roar of below. His mind and thoughts were at a well-tuned clarity. He didn't know if the other scouts felt any such vibes, but none had complained greatly at the challenges thus far.

Ranger Leyson was not perturbed by their new world, he was from a people who'd endured great setbacks and great achievements time and time again before prospering anew over the centuries and millennia. Saxon, Norse and even Celtic blood flowed through him and although he certainly felt American, it was an Occidental Way that burned in his soul.

His right-hand man, Konrad, was a wily Slavic-Russian man who was with a roguish fire to Leyson's mature élan. One complimented the other; in fact all of them did as the Mountain Hold was given a thorough appraisal for the work ahead.

Food, water and shelter were already in ample supply here and were scattered around. The food and fuel were in fifty-five gallon drums, the latter buried and lined in various areas. Water flowed constantly from freshwater springs, satisfying their hydration needs, both for man and plant. A pair of completed cabins already protruded up out of the ground, these being constructed over the past five years by Oakley, Barber and McKaiser. The structures themselves were somewhat crude by urban people's standards, but they did the job with wood-burning stove and stores a-plenty. They also were partially underground, being built into the mountainside for concealment and insulation.

Several supply sheds held a bounty of equipment and other materials needed for working the land. The crowning, submerged jewel of the Hold was Oakley's pet project; a covert mountain bunker.

Internally it had brick, rock and thick logs supporting the walls and roof. Over the top of the structure was earth and concrete, landscaped so that it would be difficult to see and a tough nut to crack, even by a determined attacker. It had defensive qualities with an internal gun port that looked out onto commanding views of the approach road below. A triple-stacked armory rack for rifles was setup beside the gun port along with a large ammunition cache. It was even connected to Oakley's nearby cabin via a tunnel network and had more than one entrance.

The bunker was livable. Two bunks were set up in the core section along with a wood-burning stove near the gun port and another between the bunks in the next room. A larder of dried food and water was kept in the coolest area and an escape ladder led up to the surface at the far end. It was also here that the far tunnel branched off towards Mike Oakley's cabin, where another ladder ascended.

Konrad and one of the scouts were using the bunker for lodgings while Leyson and the others took to the existing cabins.

A shower tent was set up affording them a reasonable state of cleanliness, along with a smoke shack for the autumn game they'd be hunting. They'd improve on this and many other things, but for now it was just getting underway.

Another blast of freezing wind caused Leyson to shiver at his sentry position as his memories were interrupted. He looked hard to the tree barricade they'd cut down all those months before. Nothing moved apart from the trees and greenery. They'd been living at the Mountain Hold for several months now and a light dusting of snow was setting in. Perhaps the sun would melt it before more came, perhaps not. His mind wandered back and away on the memory train again.


Unloading the supplies, getting tents set up and generally fitting into the place tested their fitness. Although Leyson and Konrad had visited the mountain previously the high elevation took some getting used to.
The heavy snowmelt ran nicely into the stream moat, keeping the water level knee-deep. Beyond the stream were a set of newly-built gates with a partially built second gateway off to the left. One gateway led up a steep slope to storage sheds, while the main gateway facing the road ran directly into the heart of the Mountain Hold.

A stout fence partially projected from the gateways, both of which were made from cut logs and sheet metal. A complete section of the latter only went several feet along the river for later completion. The sections were made up of a series of 'A' frame of logs with a duo of horizontal log sections running between each 'A' frame. The structure was strongly built, with sheets of dark green aluminum metal nailed into the horizontal pieces. Not only did they blend in more with the terrain but it ensured that there was no gap for a creature or intruder to slip through. It was incomplete though, making security a concern to all but the blindest of optimists. The group fell into a routine with Leyson focusing on the fence construction with a few others.

Each night before sleeping Leyson made sure to tune into the nearest radio station for the jumble of weather updates, folksy music and relentless news broadcasts. As long as he heard such things, the machine of civilization was still juddering along. Konrad's method was much simpler; he'd glance up into the sky during the daytime to check that commercial airliners still passed overhead.

The White Mountains extended for many miles with the Mountain Hold being only a part of it; taking up just under nine acres. Outside of the Hold there were at least ten summer cabins which were scattered about the White Mountains, most of them within three miles or so. Leyson sent out another scout called Jed Nuge. He was an amiable if somewhat feral Scout-Ranger and searched out the area and cabins properly.

Oakley had instructed unoccupied cabins to be salvaged in the event of a country-collapse. Most of them were barely occupied during the week and only on the weekends did people show up to stay a day or two. Regular summer occupancy was unusual, especially with the Great Recession taking full effect across the world's economies.

Konrad and his team made work building a dormitory cabin from an existing camp trailer. Most of the materials they needed were already on the land. A partially collapsed trailer cabin made a great thing to repair and build around.
Pages and pages of notes, guides and ideas were referred to for reference as none of them were professional tradesman. The more proficient artisans of the group; Danley and McKaiser were with Oakley who was still gathering more people to come north. As it was Leyson and the others had to feel their way through the ways of construction. Overall though, while Oakley's plans were not exact in details the general gist of it they took on aptly enough.
Dead trees of pine were cut down and prepared while ground was leveled off. Not only would the trees be vital for building cabins but in the event of blocking off the private road the logs would be essential. Oakley had been specific on this being done if a collapse occurred, even if it meant cutting him off in the process. In the event of access being blocked off there was another way to enter, but it was a treacherous route that even an ATV would struggle with.

Nuge returned from exploring the area with a report on the other cabin peoples.

The detailed report impressed Leyson. Nuge had been brazen yet also clandestine in his ways; whenever he had encountered an occupied cabin, Nuge would introduce himself to gain their confidence. Having done this he'd build up enough rapport to learn all he could of them, their supplies, their ideology and where their sympathies lay. To satisfy any curiosity he’d worked out a cover story of being an out-of-state hiker camping in the area. After a few days of this he'd wander back to Leyson and give him updates, map markings and the like.

Then the next day Nuge headed in the opposite direction back into the depths of the wilderness for more intel gathering. He didn't travel with much weaponry, just a pocket pistol with grimy rubber handgrips. Most of them at the Hold preferred shoulder rifles or shotguns with pistols as a reserve weapon. What they had on hand as they worked about here and there was enough to theoretically fight their way back to the bunker, and then rearm and reload. Nuge had a radically different mindset. He could sprint down mountain trails and break-leg terrain like a mountain goat and easily slip away from determined attackers after snapping off a few shots from his handgun. He was arguably the best scout and spy among them, with an almost feral aspect to his skulking ways.

The third week arrived and a relentless drive from Leyson saw them nearly finish the fence line. They'd start at the shiver of first light, endure the periodic biting insects that flourished for a few weeks of the year and then push on until the fade of evening.


As the last fence post was being nailed into place a silver pickup truck rumbled into view. It slowed to a halt just at the verge of the stream barrier before the open gates. Their own vehicles would be visible so it would be clear that people were on Mike Oakley's land.

All of them stopped what they were doing. Leyson looked over a bush, just under two hundred yards distant. It was just possible to discern occupants behind a partly tinted windshield.

No sentries had been posted at the Hold, for things were still 'normal', but Leyson knew that nosey neighbors, if that's what they were, could be trouble later on. Gossiping was not unusual and almost a pastime for some of the mountain folk.

It wasn't Oakley, for he was still gathering people in the lowlands and would have called ahead prior to a convoy of vehicles arriving in his wake.

Leyson looked down from the sloping land onto the private dirt road and saw Konrad had already taken it upon himself to go down alone and speak to the visitors.

Malcolm Spencer, the only Crafter at the Hold, moved up to Leyson, keeping low. Spencer was a brilliant technician if a little slow to grasp things.

Meanwhile Leyson unslung his rifle and laid it down on the ground next to where he kneeled.

“You think we could be in trouble?” Spencer said slowly.

He was the youngest, in his mid-twenties. A good enough scout, although somewhat nervous and skittish.

“Trouble? What for?” Leyson countered. “We've got Mike's permission to be here, it's not like we're planning the apocalypse, only preparing for it.”

“I know but with the laws they passed about remote living and food storage. Could be them making checks...” Spencer chirped, referencing the latest new restrictions being passed by the third-term president.

“Don't be a dumb-ass Malcolm. I can tell their mind games are getting to you. If they are Feds they'd not be softly rolling up to say howdy-doody,” Leyson said.

Konrad was still talking now to the driver, but Leyson could tell that from his relaxed demeanor that he was in full charm mode.

“One of them's a woman,” Leyson smiled briefly.

Spencer's deep green eyes peered through an ocular lens and surveyed the pickup.

That was one of Spencer's traits — he always kept his gear on him, even when on fatigue work like the fenceway.

Leyson on the other hand had gotten a bit lax and had taken to leaving his nearby in the upper cabin.

“She's nice,” Spencer gleamed, perking up instantly from his neurotic moment. “Blonde, in her early thirties maybe. Has a family with her in the back. Two boys…” Spencer lowered the lens and passed them to Leyson who took a peek.

Indeed the lady driver speaking to Konrad was fine. She was easy on the eye with a firm but pleasant manner.

Leyson lowered the lens as a 'zoning' presence seemed to come over him; drowning out the background noise. He relaxed and focused on the unfolding scene, seeing it move closer in his mind’s eye. Konrad stood there, leaning into the window slightly. The distant sight of them corresponded to the flow of his zoomed-in vision. His mental view moved in further while he stayed motionless.

“Joey's charming her and she him,” Leyson spoke on, barely hearing Spencer's words. “Most hitched women don't respond to that in the wilderness. She's not got a man and she'll be open to our way and the Hold.” Leyson’s mind and psyche were almost speaking through him.

The technician said nothing. It was loosely rumored that Leyson had a kind of intuition bordering on the esoteric.

Oakley was said to have 'The Touch' on matters of the big picture, future foresight and vision but Leyson was more of a focused observer, able to see between the visions, between the pictures. Being an open-minded skeptic Spencer fought the urge to say something.

Leyson went on muttering.

“The kids are grown up nearly, but no father is around. He's gone now I think, killed fighting the desert folks.”

The 'zone' was at a peak now in him as it flooded his mind with sprinkled gnosis.

Spencer heard some footsteps from behind him. It was one of the other Rangers.

He turned and pressed his finger to his lips and making a sign that Leyson was 'in a zone'. The scout looked puzzled at first, at least until Leyson spoke on then he too realized and listened.

“Yes, fathers not here anymore...” Leyson went on, his words meaning more to him than the listeners. “But that's ok, because now he can be a father to them,” Leyson said. A buzz of emotion surged from his mid-torso up to his crown.

At the stream barrier Konrad now finished talking with the driver and the pickup took off down the side track where it followed the right-hand bend, then disappeared into the dust.

Konrad came back up the slope and was pleased.

“What a woman!” Konrad said a-fire with energy. He couldn't stand still and went on about the blonde. “She's totally cool with what we're doing here! If I had known she had a cabin up here before...”

“What did you find out about her?” Leyson spoke with a smile.

“Her name's Sophie Morriene from Nevada. She's in that cabin around the next hill. You know the one Nuge couldn't get into. I said it'd be ok for her kids to come down and give us a hand. No harm in that right Adwin?”

“No harm at all man.” Leyson smiled in response. “How long's she up here for?”
“She said about a week or so.”

Spencer now spoke. “Does she have a man?” He glanced over to Leyson after he'd said this, as if in test of his clairvoyance.

“I didn't ask, but I saw no rings on her fingers. Used to live on an army base she told me, cool with hunting and shooting. I've got an invitation to the Cabin tonight for dinner, too bad you guys weren't with me eh?” Konrad chuckled with glee. He was like the cat that’d got the cream.

“Yeah maybe, but we'd probably crowd your style anyway if we all showed up,” Leyson said. They palavered some more about things then Konrad skipped over to the partial cabin he was working on and got stuck back in.
“The start of the love story for him I think.” Leyson chuckled. He went over to the fence again, checking the stability of the logs. Spencer joined him with wide goggle-eyes of amazement.

“You really believe in what you just said. Just by watching her?” he asked incredulously.

“Not saying I swear by it, just saying it as it comes.”

“It's profiling right? Like what the Feds and Internal Security do?” Spencer asked, still partly skeptical, always searching for scientific answers.

“Yeah, something like that Malcolm, something like that.” Leyson grinned, shaking his head.


A romance indeed blossomed between Konrad and Morriene, one that seemed to strengthen them and gave purpose as he worked even harder and more relentlessly than before.

Her children loved the work they were doing and seemed to give the place a youthful vitality. At the same time Morriene's cabin had some luxuries they were not quick to refuse; a hot water shower and a flush toilet being among them.

They'd grown used to the mountain fatigue that plagued them, not quite completely but well enough. While complete equilibrium to the elevation they were at would take years, they were more than adjusted by now.

The fence was now completed, allowing them to concentrate and focus on the cabins and the garden began to show signs of growth. The carrots took many weeks to bear a crop while the radishes sprouted much sooner, although for Leyson they tended to be of an acquired taste.

Deer, elk, grouse and fish were the bulk of their meat diet which complimented the stored food and their caches nicely.

On the day before The Fall came good news on Spencer’s commlink with the outside world. It was from Mike Oakley and he was almost ready to depart the plains. He'd gathered enough people to start the mountain settlement with nearly sixty folk in total. Leyson and the others had been concerned at the lack of communication but now their morale soared on hearing from him.
“He's coming now!” one said.

“Finally the man cometh,” spoke another.

“He departs in the morning and should be here by nightfall,” Spencer confirmed, checking over his transcripts. Oakley had not spoken using vocal comms, but instead had sent the message coded via the transcrypt function common to the interweb.

That night they'd celebrated in cheerful fashion and awaited the morning of the day Oakley and his folk would arrive.

Oakley never came that day. For the dawning of the Blue Sun came instead; a bright-blue orb which blazed energy in all directions.

Leyson saw it first from his lookout position on the mountain.

It appeared in the northern sky, as bright as the sun, almost like it had risen prior to him noticing it.

“What are you?” Leyson declared softly at the thing with a kind of knowing. “And what is it you bring to Terra?”

The other dwellers of the gulch emerged from their sleeping places and joined him at the observation area. Awed by the sight of it at first, then later when they learned of its effects they saw it as a terrible beauty—the harbinger of a deadly new age. Mike Oakley wasn't going to make it on time after all.


Communications were almost blocked out as waves of rippling static now filled the airwaves. Electrical components across the northern hemisphere were nullified, paralyzed and rendered useless. For reasons of location and elevation the effects seemed milder at the Hold but no less challenging.
When the solar sun descended the Blue Sun remained, lighting the valley in a dull blue fire. When the moons light emerged the mix in lights seemed to set the orb on fire like there was a celestial duel taking place of some kind, creating a display of dancing, moving and shimmering crescents on the surface. As the moon rose further, the orb descended out of sight, its power seemingly spent.

Spencer was able to fine-tune the radio equipment. This along with the interference reducing at nightfall meant details from the outside world were apparent.

“It's chaos out there Leyson. Everything's ground to a halt, satellites are down and anarchy's taken over!” Spencer declared boldly. “The States are breaking up and it's every man for himself!”

“It's a new beginning then,” Leyson said surmising things. “I think deep down we all expected something was gonna happen, it's just a bit sooner than we'd have liked.”

“The world deserved this, given how rotten it is,” Konrad scorned with more than a few noises in agreement.

“Maybe, but what of Mike and the others, have you received word?” Leyson said, concerned for their patron.

“He's out of range on the radio comms. If he's been exposed on the road in the convoy…” Spencer said regrettably, not wanting to say what he felt. “I just hope he's not caught in it too bad.”

“What about the web can you get on that?” Leyson asked changing the subject.

“Well cyberspace is down on all servers, I tested a cheap minicomputer I had stashed outside and it was totally dead. Even under the cage it wouldn't restart. All our other stuff is ok though. At nightfall, even with reduced power from that orb-thing it's still not quite safe for electronics. There's still interference but not as bad.”

Leyson nodded. One thing he'd been diligent about was keeping the computer systems under a faraday cage. All their vehicles were pre-microchipped diesel engines and thankfully unaffected.

“Imagine the damage on unsuspecting areas like cities! The massive server farms, the world’s mainframe servers and all sorts of other things will be scrambled. Possibly even the hardened and shielded government ones!”

Spencer said conclusively before carrying on. “I heard this weird transmission from somewhere in the night, maybe from a military frequency, I couldn't be sure. It was saying 'Terra's Edge' over and over before it shut off.”

“Terra's Edge?” Leyson repeated to himself before turning to Konrad. “Any planes Joey?”

“None, nothing's passed over.”

“This is the real thing and we all know Oakley's orders,” Leyson said then spoke directly to Konrad. “The Mountain Hold has to be sealed off. You'd better let Sophie know before we do it. That way it can be her choice to leave the easy way than through the ATV trail.”

“Will do man. I think she's staying so it should be good.”

“Oh and Joey…” Leyson spoke on what needed to be said. “In the morning we elect a caretaker leader.” Leyson looked briefly at the notes Oakley had left for him, he held them up to emphasize what he meant.

Konrad nodded. “I’ll let the others know.”


The next morning all of the people came to the gathering, including Morriene and her children. She was more worried than the others, but with Konrad’s help was holding it together.

Behind them, like a strange heavenly presence was the Blue Sun, it had returned with the sun’s approach. The strange orb seemed to have risen a few hours earlier for the blue rays had mingled with the fading moonlight and solar dawn. The effect was a unique and strange color contrast that lingered in the sky for about three hours or so.

Under that light of the apocalypse Leyson read out the instructions left by Oakley.

“Should I not return and a collapse occurs you must elect a Caretaker leader and seal off the way in. We can't risk the hordes from the outside world swamping the place, looting and killing, so cut down trees and block off access. Hopefully I will make it through and hold the line with you, but if I cannot you must complete my work transforming this once mountain gulch and valley into a Mountain Hold...”

The notes went on detailing how they'd elect a leader.

After some banter and palaver votes were cast and Leyson, by a comfortable margin was made Caretaker of the Mountain Hold.

Some were not happy about sealing the land off so soon though, not least Spencer and Konrad. Leyson agreed to a compromise of waiting until after the Blue Sun descended.

When there was still no sign of their leader it was time to lockdown the Hold. They dragged three of the biggest trees they'd felled all the way out to the edge of the private road that led to the highway.

The orb descended from the northern horizon as it had the previous night. It moved in a lazy way taking its time to ascend and descend for each cycle it made. Some speculated it was some kind of a strange craft which lurked in the icy polar wilderness. Others felt that it emerged like an entity of the earth, perhaps sent by forces beyond comprehension to bring about change. Whatever the orb was it repeated the slow pattern of rise and fall for nearly a month.

“I think the Blue Sun is interfacing with Terra's geomagnetic field somehow,” Spencer explained keenly. “Maybe even realigning it, and just as the wave of interference begins to fade after midnight, it returns at daybreak to resume what it's been doing.”

“Maybe, or it could have been sent to bring about a shift to a new age,” Morriene said with an etheric vibe. “That could have been the meaning behind that mystery message you heard. 'Terra's Edge' could mean that the world of Terra is at the edge of a new paradigm and this Blue Sun is the way into it.”

She looked at them all for a response.

“I never looked at it that way Sophie,” Konrad said.

“It could well be the thing that allows us to find a better balance…” Leyson spoke like another was telling him from beyond. “But when an age passes and a new one takes over there is often great violence and conflict as one side fights against the other.”

“Yeah, like when Atlantis was supposed to have fallen beneath the waves. Only this time it’s not liquid but maybe something on a different level…”

Spencer said as his mind wandered off. He indeed wondered if the electrical collapse and breakdown was just another cyclical pattern in Terra's turbulent history.


By day twenty-five only routine survivalist frequencies of varying cordiality made for tentative communications. Spencer kept detailed logs of the chaotic happenings and changes, only a few military communications were still operating for the most part. They would have been worth listening to had they not been so far from the Mountain Hold and vague. Spencer once heard a far-off, transmission from an 'Outpost 109' though.

“Outpost 109 this is Mountain Hold,” Spencer called out.

“Just reading you Mountain Hold,” a voice distantly answered.

Then the transmission faded and all he could do was make a log of it along with the other entries. Perhaps Outpost 109 was another place in the high places like them, but then he began picking up signals from elsewhere.
In the cities a form of borderline anarchy reigned. Some of the transmissions made for morbid entertainment. A functioning radio station in St Louis had been taken over by a charismatic gang speaker called Jangleweed. For a week he raved and bopped about this and that, justifying their many 'erotic' incidents, battles and tribulations with a barrage of ebonic-like euphemisms complete with 'guest speakers'. Then Jangleweed stopped transmitting and a more militant Nation of Rabia man took his place. He warned all who listened that the city was theirs and the 'Edomites,' as he called European folk, were outlaws and to be shot on sight.

Following that the station stopped transmitting.

By Spencer's reckoning the death toll from all manner of causes was beyond reason, many millions across the western world, more so in the second and third world. That number was bound to rise.

Complicated infrastructures and utilities that had seen no maintenance were now systematically failing. With few technicians and workers able to fix the issues, the delicate strands of technology and capitalist-driven civilization soon fell to pieces.

Warlords, gangs and rogue enforcers now ruled what was left of nearly all the cities in the USA. Europe was more factional with wealthy families, upper-class elites and high-ranking generals taking great slices of territory and resources.

The cyberspace world returned, albeit in a slow-to-restore fashion and one that was much more restrictive to geographical landmasses.

Vehicles that were old enough not to rely on delicate computer hardware were returned to a semblance of order. The hydrocarbons they relied on were scarce though, with the remaining sources and refineries being jealously guarded. At the Hold their ancient pickups were like precious relics and only Morriene’s ATV would start at her cabin, compared to her now lifeless pickup. Spencer put that down to her cabin having no trees for her pickup to shelter underneath. It went against his logic but it seemed that organic compounds like trees, along with high altitude, dampened the effects of the Blue Sun.
Overall the Hold was one of the few areas best placed to take on the challenges of the New World. The next few months saw the Mountain Hold develop and attain a look of permanence. The animals on the mountain, despite the strange radio reports elsewhere were unharmed. Wild game was hunted, carefully stored, cabin's known to be abandoned were scavenged. Notes were left in the unlikely case of the occupants returning to their abode. These explained why and where their items were to be found.

No one showed up to claim their supplies though and the once valuable and wealthy holiday cabins were now useless to their former owners. Many of which were now dead or in positions disagreeable to travel.

Then, just as they were getting used to it, the Blue Sun set one night with the waning of the moon to never emerge from the northern lands again. It had been like a third power in the sky, fighting against moon and sun but now it was as if its work was done and the powers of the world resumed their purpose in a new Terra.


Leyson was almost lost in the memory train and his head rested against the tree trunk. A quiet voice in him seemed to speak and he emerged from his snooze and saw it was well after nightfall. Leyson's eyes struggled to focus on the fallen trees south of the observation point.

He saw movement and readied his rifle – then there was a great flash of light from the fallen barricade.

A flare burst up into the sky giving off a reddish-glow. It revealed figures more than faces but Leyson took a moment to realize the flares significance.
It was a signal flare meant to let him know they had arrived.

He dropped his rifle and took up his flashlight and signaled back with it. After a few seconds pause another flare erupted. This was not a sky flare but a hand-held one which lit up the bearer like an otherworldly beacon.

There standing with figures to his side and behind him was Mike Oakley. Looking like a mountain prophet who had returned with knowledge to spread and tales to tell. Leyson had almost given up on ever seeing the man again and had been mulling the thought of assuming leadership fully of the Mountain Hold.

Now though Oakley strode forwards grinning at last. He had finally returned to his beloved Mountain Hold and with the fiery wand still blazing in his hand he and dozens more clambered over the trees and branches. As they stepped onto their promised land Oakley’s Folk had finally been brought home.

morriss003

First of all, Heinlein is spelled with two "i"s.

Prologue

A strange blue light in the skies heralded what became known as The Collapse or The Fall. It mysteriously rose up [you tell a good story, but like most of us, you use too many words. You don't need "up"] in the northern hemisphere of Terra [okay, but "Earth" would be just as easy and not sound so...] , and, after rising by day and falling again at night, the dismantling effects to the world’s civilizations had begun. [civilization began to collapse.]

Complex microprocessors, circuits and satellites were rendered useless. The [here is an example of too many words. You don't need "The", simply capitalize the "b" in blackouts.] blackouts descended, as nearly everything from power stations downwards went haywire, amid a cascade of internal failures and overloads.

In previous times, there had been great caches of food and supplies ["for months on end" delete]. Yet [Delete "the strange wisdom of more" Here you are interjecting opinion into your story. That's okay. If you do that, you might consider using ", but" in place of "Yet"] recent governments saw [I suggest substituting "put" in place of "saw"] an end to that safeguard as a more lucrative, mercantile mentality took hold. Shipping, aviation and modern trucking ground to a halt thus exposing the great flaw to the 'just-in-time-delivery' model now relied upon by all major cities of the world.

As ["As" is one of the most overused words. I see it all the time. In this case, consider using "When"]the money machines went blank and the lights went out, the horror show was unleashed. [Unnecessary sentence "Each night had seen the blue light fade away only to return again the next morning."] Only the wisest, most prepared, luckiest and those utterly ruthless [Delete "enough"] could survive each new day.

Within a few weeks the Blue Sun vanished but the world below had shifted and changed. Old governments were eclipsed by fresher, younger, more defiant and independent factions [Delete "in their wake"]. [The only necessary part of the next sentence is "dark forces awakened" although you could say "dark forces had awakened. "Nevertheless there were dark forces now awakened and keen to press on with their agenda regardless."]

Telling a story in as few words as possible keeps readers moving along. The more they move through the story, the more likely they are to finish.

Watch Ryder

Chapter 5

The Hold Prospers

Aspen leaves began to gather as autumn crept into the cusp of winter. The first truly cold winds began to blow through the distant valleys with gathering howls, even the plains below grew chilly in the silent hours.

In the month that had passed since Oakley's return the remaining crude shelters had slowly grown into fledgling cabins.

There was a good mix of people at the Hold. The ones that Oakley had brought with him tended to be hardy, and able to stand up to the rigors of the climate and settle the mountain. An unerring instinct had carried him to choose those with the right stuff to enter his new world and this had paid off dividends. People got on with their work and did not shirk or shy away from the hardship.

The Crafting folk had seen to setting up a greenhouse cabin. Its many glass panels were set up with wooden shuttering that would later protect against the winter snow. Yet for the time being it was helping to produce the last vegetables of the growing season. Augmenting the cottage industry were furs and skins from the hunting that would be bartered with in Tonswater.

The Crafters and Armsmen worked on the workshops along with a forge that was half-finished. An abandoned gold mine was explored fully just outside of the Hold. It was mostly mined-out at an industrial level but some gold could still be panned for in the rivers that ran down by it. Some weeks passed and they slowly became more savvy and skilled in the ways of their ancestors.

Across the nation that was once America the changes continued. It now became ruggedly individualistic from the Midwest along to the Pacific Northwest. Those states were now fully independent, yet now formed the principles of a republic. From what was left of the towns and cities tentative bonds of alliance were formed. These would become essential for long-term trade and friendship, while keeping out of each other's business as was the natural way.

For the Hold it was through contact with Tonswater that they themselves would sluggishly keep up to speed on the developments taking place elsewhere in the world.

The fragmented, tatters of the union still lingered—in some places far to the east like New England a degree of greater co-operation now existed with city coalitions and alliances.
Much of the southern states were a loss for the most part—savage behavior and animosity rampaged throughout the cities there. Much of Texas and Arizona were made up of homestead and town enclaves; islands of civilization against the seas of hostility. Further north along the west coast brutish warlords and enforcer gangs imposed their rule on the surviving populace. A rudimentary rule of law was now battered into the minds of their denizen subjects there. In Canada the flicker of what once was remained but only just and in the cities, much like other areas, it was a mish-mash of multicultural chaos.

Across the former Plains States though, the way of the homestead farmer, ranchman and rural townie prospered in comparison.

It was still a challenge as half of them suffered grief from gasoline shortages for the farming machinery still operating, along with the working transportation. Those who were wise enough to stockpile supplies stood a better chance though, as did those who could farm with raw animal power.
What was left of the internet now completely shifted into a geographically-restricted Nexus or Nex for short. For the name 'internet' was mostly put aside as the more landmass-centric Nexus took precedent. The Nexus was somewhat slower than before but it still allowed much of what was on the old systems to be transferred. Thanks to the surviving technicians and other wise folk the foundation framework and basic protocols were established, allowing the Nexus to take form. Nevertheless it was an ongoing mammoth task and one that would take years to complete fully.

Oakley and his people heard from Tonswater that television was now nearly obsolete. The broadcasting stations that were key to relaying the signals fell silent. Like water washing away the sticky dregs of a container its way of life passed on also. Most were now burnt out, gutted or abandoned; those that remained were relegated to automated short-range broadcasts.

New terms describing the changed America became spoken of more and more. First it was The Independent States of America or ISA. Another was the Isolationists or Isols. While this had some popularity it was far from general acceptance. Then a new term was used that seemed to encompass the zeitgeist now enveloping the land.

The Independent States And Republics were declared by a majority of the Plains and Pacific Northwest territories. In its shortened form 'ISTAR' or even 'ISAR' became the colloquial term used instead of the long-winded version. To those outside the ISTAR strongholds, the name generated emotions ranging from jealous hatred to a beacon of freedom.
Fuel was one of the new forms of currency. Certain areas of the land had vast hydrocarbon reserves untapped like Wyoming, Texas, North Dakota and Montana. Refineries were jealously guarded along with the drilling zones. Bullets, goods, food and to a lesser extent gold and silver were other acceptable mediums of exchange.

What was left of the police force became enforcers and lingered on in cities that had survived The Fall. They did little more than posture and enforce the laws of the local ruler though typically. Outside in the wilderness zones a man made his own law. Any sporadic presence of the enforcers was tolerated for only so long, before it was unwelcome. Once any patrolling enforcer squad departed an outlying area, the true natural law of the land returned.
For the Mountain Hold territory Oakley's Law was very simple:

Do not murder.
Do not injure.
Do not steal from another.

Any who did such a thing would be put on trial by the entire community. At the Hold there was little to no strife in this regard though; their numbers were small and they all strived to make their lot in life better.

Including the new arrivals the Mountain Hold's numbers had swelled to just under sixty men, women and children.

Sentries kept a vigilant watch at the outreaches. With their rifles ready and eyes sharp for movement the very mood of man had assumed the way of the warrior from that of the menial worker. They had seen that while the good folk stayed mostly good, the evil and dark ones seemingly plunged into greater evil and savagery.

During the evening hours a fire would be lit for them all to gather around and wind-down from the chores of the day.

Oakley sometimes secretly watched from the trees and high vantage points as the Mountain Hold took shape. Each new section of fencing and cabin was like a force of nature expanding from a former self.

At the midnight hour through to the early hours of dawn Oakley would glimpse the unseen worlds and forces of The Beyond. Amidst that symphonic cyclic ballet of the outer realms he would learn and make his way.

As far as he could tell the world of Terra was indeed a crucible where two forces were in eternal contention. Either one side or the other would survive and reign dominant. Those in the middle would lean one way or another as their fate dictated.

The strange new orb seemed like an impartial divine force that brought about the sides into their respective factions. Degrading chaos on the one side, burning ways of the light on the other; together they made the truth that two opposites could never truly co-exist. Oakley saw neither as 'evil', but he also knew that from the dawn of time both were destined to clash or fight it out. For better or worse one would have to become dominant in some form or another.

Caught between it all was Terra—a middle ground for these eternal powers fighting it out in an orchestral wave of magnitudes.

Oakley muttered and rambled a bit as he recovered from his outer-trance and recomposed himself. The others knew better than to disturb him for he could become like a gruff and unfriendly bear if he desired his own company. For now though his spirit wandering was at an end and he moved to be more among the others.

A few brief flurries of snow were starting to set in more often now. The coming winter would be a test, but then so would there be a test for all others in Terra, in one form or another.

A set of three flickering fires caught his eye; the settlers often gathered at them in the evening, once the work was done it was time to relax before retiring to their cabins. He too needed to relax and perhaps mix with them some more, but for the Oakley he was not one to relax easily even when he felt it was necessary. There was always something pushing him on.

Perhaps once a watchtower was built overlooking the distant state highway he would relax more.

For now though the burden of the Mountain Hold rested on him, and Oakley could not drop into easy-living or complacency while things elsewhere were in a state of flux.

Several of the mountain-dwellers gathered at the fire as they always did in the evening. The three gathering fires flickered and blazed in the Hold. One at the spring-source, another at the gateway but it was at the middle one where many gathered.

“So where did he come from then?” Morriene asked curiously. “This Mike Oakley seems so mysterious.”

“Years back Mike told me he’s from north-east of here,” Danley said. “He said once he knew the world was goin’ all to hell he might as well do something about it.”

“But it's so high up and remote here. Cabins like mine are ok for summer but in winter?” she said in disbelief.

“High mountains have always been a rock and a sanctuary for our people if you find the right ones,” Danley said. “Here is one of those places—it has a micro-climate extending the growing season slightly, plentiful game returning each spring and the shelters will keep us warm and safe. We’ve got plenty of wood and dead trees too for firewood.”

“He gathered so many people up here, it's just amazing with what's going on elsewhere,” Morriene exclaimed.

“That's Oakley; he carries a kind of 'force' or 'power' with him. It's hard to explain,” Leyson spoke. “It's like he knows how to find and get something to happen when it has to happen. Now he's succeeded in getting the Mountain Hold going he is resting and waiting for the spring to come.”

“What then?” the woman asked curiously.

“Hopefully we can complete the Mountain Hold's defenses for the coming year. As you know the winter snow will isolate us completely then from what's left of the outside world. Vehicles will be paralyzed in these mountains, even tracked vehicles would struggle. Those on foot would flounder to an uncertain fate, unless they're prepared with snow-shoes and skis,” Leyson explained.

“What about the long-term though? Does Mike want us to live here until the end of our days?” Morriene wondered.

“No one is a prisoner here,” Danley now said in an upbeat manner. “We've already discussed this very thing. Anyone wishing to go down to Tonswater and elsewhere is free to do so. But don't expect an easy time of it.”

“What do you mean? Things are getting back together again aren't they? It'll surely be going back to how it was?” Morriene was a decent, if somewhat naive woman. Her optimism hadn't been crushed, despite her husband being killed in the desert conflicts. Indeed she still had some of the lingering 'American Dream' that cushioned her mind from the hard realities of post-apocalyptic life elsewhere.

“There's no going back now,” Leyson said firmly. “The previous age is done for and finished. Raiders, bandits and every other kind of vermin roam the land. Once the Hold is firmly established and trade links are formed things will be more clear and stable. Expeditions to other places, even towns that are friendly can take place. Oakley has long-term plans for future Lowland Holds where we can raise livestock and farm, areas that are better suited to craft and trade with others. Perhaps one day we'll be able to take over a town or even a city from raiders and use it for our own people. Then we can look to reaching out to other areas. Yet that is over-the-horizon talk right at the moment,” he concluded.

Barber picked up the tune of the conversation and now spoke. “We're sending one last supply convoy down to Tonswater tomorrow. We can pick up any extras we might need then we'll be on our own,” the Ranger said.

“I thought the way in and out of the Hold was blocked off now?” Morriene said curiously.

“It is, but there's a narrow off-road trail that we can use to cut through the forests and reach the state highway,” Barber explained. “Unless someone has a detailed knowledge of the area you'd never know there was another way up here. The trail doesn't even show up on archived maps we have of the area but when it snows deep even that’s impassable.”

A silence had begun to set in when Oakley approached the gathering fire with McKaiser who carried some papers he was showing to him. Their coming brought a silence to the conversation and palaver.

“Why are you all so quiet, do I seem like the mountain king?” Oakley jested lightening the mood somewhat with laughter.

They sat and discussed the supply run along with the logistics. Previously a stored bicycle on the mountain meant one of the scouts was able to make a trial run to Tonswater the previous week. He brought back a list of desired goods they'd be willing to trade with the Hold.

“To Tonswater tomorrow then,” Oakley spoke decisively. “Then we settle in for the winter season.”

Copyright Tyler Danann

Watch Ryder

Chapter 6

F a r S i g n s

The next morning the three vehicles headed away early and the morning frost still clung to the ground bitterly. Exiting the mountains was a slow process but none of the convoy ended up stuck or in turmoil. They made numerous turns and descents down steep dips and twists. After twenty minutes of this the trail joined onto a broader dirt road. Following the road for a couple of miles saw them finally reach the state highway. Then it was a left-turn from there to take them on their way to Tonswater.

In the leading vehicle Barber accompanied Oakley. Leyson drove the second with McKaiser, while in the third was Konrad and his wife Morriene. Oakley did not drive but was a passenger while the silent Range Warrior Barber drove him. Mike Oakley was on edge, not for the descent and travel to Tonswater. It was much more profound than a mere supply run. The previous visions in the night had been bothersome. Even now his mind went over them as a diligent scholar goes over and interprets papers scrawled by frenzied soothsayers.

Great signs and doings were afoot on Terra. Powerful beings were now taking shape and intruding. The way of subterfuge and insidious methods were now becoming auxiliary to naked force and aggression.

He was going over his minds memory when he felt a gentle tugging at his being from within, like something wished to guide him away from his body. He inwardly focused then his spirit was whisked far to the east so fast he was near-overwhelmed.

He was like a high bird looking down at the green and beige terrain of Wyoming. Next he left behind the Rocky Mountains, the Mid-West and the landmass of America as the strange force took him over the ocean. By the time he’d reached Europa it was a blur and it kept on going.

Finally the force slowed and stopped. Below him plains and the sliver of a mountain range were visible. It was Eurasia but exactly where was uncertain given the formless nature of the place.

'Why am I being shown this grassy steppe of nothing?' He wondered.
The force that carried him now took him lower and towards the tiny mountain range. These barely formed one side of a valley and were almost swallowed up by the vastness of the Eurasian Steppe. He was taken down to bird height now and heard the wind whooshing by, yet felt no chill or buffeting as he moved lower. Apart from a few foothills to the west the terrain was depressingly flat between him and the mountains he faced.

'Not much character here compared to the Hold.' Oakley thought consciously.
Indeed he was about to make efforts to return to his body when a flash of bright light surged out from the south face of the mountain. Smoke poured forth and he moved in closer. Here he saw an emerging army move out like large black grains of rice. His vision knowledge told him this was one of the opposing forces, or at least a representation or element of it.

Oakley was taken lower until he was roughly the height of a tall tree. At this point he was more freely hovering under his own power—the force that had brought him now seemingly departed. He consciously moved forwards seeing the mass of movement up close. There were three figures that moved ahead of the strong force.

He saw the biggest one leading them was a giant creature nearly eight-feet tall and it resembled an abomination of creature fused with man. He could look only for a few seconds such was the jutting, beak-like face of the swarthy creature. A dark carapace of body, arms and legs seemed to make up the bulk of it. This was no leader though, no doubt a fighting beast for slaying and guarding those that flanked it. More machine than organic or was it more organic than machine?

The second one next to it was the real holder of power, one who commanded such things. It also was a giant, albeit shorter than the first creature and there was a more human-esque way about its looks. Yet even these appeared an exaggeration, almost a mockery to what normal folk resemble. The figure was clad with robes hiding a powerful frame, with cybernetic arms and a swarthy face which radiated evil. Inclined eye sockets bulged out slightly as beady reddish-black eyes emanated a peculiar glare. A plate of black metal seemed to be melded over one cheek and a chunk of skull above the eyes had a section missing. In its place a cage glistened as an expanded, pulsating, brain-organ pumped within. The helmet it wore hid any hair so Oakley could not guess the color, but he suspected it was hairless. It wore a bulky backpack and carried holstered weaponry.

It hefted a huge standard with a great array of shapes and circles upon it. It spoke to the other two in a bold, guttural and whining way, as alien as it was unsettling. He drifted closer and closer to see them before their people. The ruler now gave an erupting howl no human could fathom and planted the great metal standard into the lush green earth.

As the shrieking echo faded his army before him hailed him over and over. This went on for a few minutes. Then came more doings from the enemy before him. The machine-like one now raised its metallic arms wide. It pointed in both directions to the east and west before giving another weird shriek.
The third was a more European looking man who grinned with a fair face and lucid blue eyes. Charisma and the mark of a politician were about this one. He now spoke, much in the same tongue as the leader had, yet in a vaguely familiar accent. This speaker had more a beguiling way and led on a passionate exclaim about something. With shifty, slight gestures, hand-shaping and head tilting the rowdy soldiers now settled down, seemingly transfixed by the man's ways. Oakley had seen enough of the leader trio and looked at the rank and file, wondering what their measure was.
All were armed with long guns; bolt-action and semi-auto types he was not fully familiar with. It was as if they'd developed weaponry from areas of their own making but in a crude copy or imitation of the surface world’s technologies. He could tell that they lacked the precision for more finely crafted things. The small army all wore armor though, but it was one that dehumanized the warrior to a brutish form of an armored soldier. Even by Oakley's own disdain for state armies they were a foul-natured lot. The multitude of faces that stared at the speaker was of an infinite admixture of racial types and blends. Their swarthy brown and black faces peered out from raised helm visors. Occasionally he'd glimpse a fairer, more European face amid the horde below. Yet even that seemed feral and hostile; like it was recalcitrant and at war with whatever the group as a whole dictated.
Sneering ways with a cruel aspect seemed a commonplace trait. Reassuringly they were of average height and build for the most part. He saw though that the rear most ranks were a foot or so taller with an even tougher emphasis. These ones seemed the elite or veterans of the formation, silent and somber with a brooding edge, there was a way of contrast from the others. They were totally encased in helmets so there was no telling what they looked like. Truly though these were a detestable brood as a whole.

The chanting resumed and he could make out a word being shouted again and again now.

“Saken! Saken! Saken!”

It went on without end and Oakley had seen and heard enough. He made moves to flee and pulled with his spirit to soar up and away, but a force had anchored to him from behind and was somehow restricting him. He'd drifted much closer than he dared now, almost over the top of them by about thirty feet or so. He became unsettled and anxious.

Oakley suddenly heard a bellow from behind him and then the force which had guided him returned and pushed him forward. Like a rocket he rushed deeper into the mountain opening.


Barber drove over the cattle grid gateway, his military mind kept his ever-flickering eyes this way and that. Looking like a hawk does for movement and prey as the convoy rumbled on ahead. A movement off to his right disturbed his train of focus. It was Oakley's gnarled hand reaching forward and it gripped the plastic of the upper glovebox. Barber was about to say something when Oakley slumped forward and he stared into space with eyes that were glassy; seeing yet unseeing.

It was one of his 'seizures' or 'knowings' as Oakley called them. He'd confided in few but his trusted inner circle of this; Barber being one of them. Without his 'knowings' over the course of many years the Mountain Hold would have been a distant dream. Leyson was another they knew to have a strange kind of insight, but Oakley's was the real deal and as long as he had it they all had a fighting chance at what this brave new world they'd entered.
'What do you see in that strange world of yours?' Barber wondered. Then took his mind back to doing what he was best at and looked ahead for more potential danger.

As if in answer Oakley made some loud mutterings. “Passages...passages...all over the place...all over Terra perhaps?” he said from an absent body. Barber reckoned he was about wake-up into this world again, but then Oakley lapsed back into the strange trance.

Barber knew better than to halt the vehicle or wake him up. Oakley had given them strict instructions that if he was to have a 'knowing' come over him no one was to interfere or rouse him in anyway.

The convoy now exited the national forest area.

They were three quarters of the way to Tonswater, and only the bare hills of Wyoming now lay before them. Barber hoped Oakley was through with his trance-like business then, otherwise it might look odd to the townsfolk.
“I'll have to wake him before then, no matter what happens,” Barber said quietly as he drove them onwards.


Oakley's glazed eyes looked forward blindly from his body as his spiritual essence plunged deep into the mountain. With the strange force pushing him from behind it was all that he could do to keep looking ahead and to the sides somewhat. The passageways were roughly hewn at the entrance he'd rushed through and were as wide as a highway. Dim blue lights set into the walls let him see well ahead as the charged force of energy drove him onwards. Several bends in the tunnel caused him to lose his sense of direction as the jagged tunnel slowly changed into smoother formed passageway. He stopped trying to memorize a route back to the entrance and relaxed to let whatever it was bear him onwards.

High ceilings of arched rock were seemingly fused to the sides like a melded join and they loomed above him. All the while below him were great lengths of metallic track disappearing into the distance. Ahead of Oakley the passageway broadened out further as squat gray buildings came into sight. They were ugly and harsh on the eye, built for the sole purpose of a utilitarian nature. The railway lines carried on through the building settlement where there were strange-looking trains with small vehicles of metal sat upon them. Milling around these were more figures like those he'd seen outside. Off to one side an area of twenty or so prostrate creatures lay on slabs. At first he thought them to be dead bodies but several were moving and struggling.
Oakley wondered if they were prisoners. Then he noticed their split limbs and ragged wounds showing signs of torture. Some shoddy, shambling figures were walking from the wall towards them with a crowd following behind. Not soldiers so much as onlookers he guessed. He just made out an opening in the wall they'd exited from.

'They aren't just passing through these underground places, they live among them!' Oakley realized in amazement.

He looked away from the misery of the scene as the way station passed underneath. Machine-like was the best way his psyche could interpret the place. He took one good look at a central building that hummed with noise—great tubes flowed out of it, along the ground, the walls, and up through the ceiling. Then the strange energy behind him accelerated forward and they were gone from the place.

The force behind him slowed down as far ahead the tunnel opened into various sweeping junctions. The first one on the right he was carried through, the blue tunnel lights changed to white ones here. Then the speed of the thing behind him increased until his vision could barely cope. The rushing lights gave him a throbbing pain which soon became a splitting one as the duration of this rapid flight lasted for nearly a minute. The speeding thing behind him now slowed again. Oakley tried to turn to look but found he was still anchored into seeing forwards, downwards and to the sides only.

As the waves of pain in him subsided he saw the rail line ended and the ground beyond that was uneven and rocky. Crude shelters and small rail-aligned machines were parked to one side of the tunnel and some headed back the way he'd traveled. Countless beings below labored and worked at the area.

'They mean to extend the line.' Oakley surmised.

Then he was past them and heading towards a cluster of heavy rocks the size of buildings which blocked the way ahead. Now the force behind him hesitated and slowed to a walking pace.

Feeling the force slacken behind him Oakley risked a look behind him.
Dazzling red, white and yellow light almost blinded him and he looked forward again.

'Hold still Oakley of the Mountain!' The voice in his head spoke that was not his own and as it echoed through him more words followed.

'Struggle free from my grip and you'll be exposed to them and risk pursuit! I need to find us a way through the rocks.' It cautioned.

Oakley relented, somewhat reassured the force had some communication with him, he did not know why, but he inherently trusted in it now. He imagined that it was as much an intruder as he was in the strange world they passed through.

'There! I have it!' The thoughts passed into him again. 'Patience Oakley, we are nearly there now!' Oakley could not quite fathom the words that had come into him. It was as though it were an intention emitted and then translated by his spirit’s understanding.

Along the smooth tunnel wall, about halfway up a large gap presented itself. Then the force behind him surged them through it and after a hundred yards or so they'd passed to the other side. Here the tunnel resumed its progress; there was no rail track now just bare and uneven rock. Yellowish-red lights blazed with an ethereal fire at the walls that denoted a change, possibly in location. Oakley wondered what fueled the fluttering flames.

Then they accelerated again but not like the crazy speeds of before. He asked a few direct questions to the force, but there came no answer. No doubt it was too focused on its business of movement he surmised. There were more junctions like before and Oakley was taken via a right-hand curve which went back on itself a touch, then straightened again. This one was narrow, barely wide enough to accept a scout truck.

After nearly five minutes the travel slowed completely as the tunnel ended and an ancient staircase led up to the surface. Now the guiding force spoke.
'This is your part of Terra mountain man. Now you’ve seen that the ills that afflict Eurasia will soon come to all parts of Terra!’ The thought translation sounded sad and desperate but then spoke on.

‘You must be ready!'

'I know this, but what does it mean?' Oakley asked broadly.
'What has failed to take over Terra in peace, must now attempt to do so in war. It must not succeed, for this is the Time of the Wolf!'

It spoke this to him with a stronger force that buffeted his mind and spirit somewhat. Oakley felt his full range of movement return as he normally could when vision questing.

He turned around and saw the entity light vanishing back the way they had traveled, faintly illuminating the way as it did so. Oakley resisted the urge to follow it, knowing it was time to move on.

Coaxing his entity around to the staircase he moved up to it. The ascent was narrow with ancient steps that were somewhat worn and they led higher until the flaming lights from below faded and it was near-darkness. He went further up until after turning right, then left he emerged through a partially caved in opening. The frame that spanned the entrance was formidable and it was only forward from it that the cave-in was evident he noted. Oakley exited through it into the light.


“Mike! Mike! We're at the Tonswater checkpoint!” a voice shouted through to him followed by a rough shake.

Oakley felt like he was being stuffed into himself like a wave of buckshot. He shouted and screamed briefly, his arms flurried with suddenness. His follower expected a violent reaction though and coolly raised his arm as a few stray blows were blocked by it.

When Oakley had calmed down he composed himself with some deep breathing and took in the view in front of him. Tonswater was before him with a closed gate and guards that looked in from a few dozen yards away.
Barber turned the truck's music-player on and pretended to listen to its steady synth melody. From the gateway a militiaman bearing an AR-10 rifle came over to them with a look in his eye. Barber lowered the window.

“You alright in there?” he quizzed carefully. The sentry had a strong kind of perception and saw something was amiss.

“Yeah I just woke my buddy up with some of my music. It kinda jolted him around if you know what I mean,” Barber said with a laugh.

“Oh right, I thought he was about to go crazy or something.”

Oakley understood the subterfuge and made a sheepish grin and raised a hand in a throwaway gesture, all the while still processing all what he'd just been through.

“Naah, just crazy from the Blue Sun like the rest of the world,” Barber jested before declaring their business. “We've got trade and supply business to do here, one of our guys came down last week about it.”

The guard relaxed instantly. “Oh yeah, one of the others mentioned something about that.” The sentry half-gestured with the butt of his AR at them. “Are the other two vehicles behind you here for that as well?”

“Yep,” Barber said casually, the guard went back to the metal paneled gateway for a minute or so. As soon as he was out of hearing range Barber dropped his pretense and turned to Oakley.

“Mike you ok? I had to wake you, what's going on?” Barber hissed.

“It's alright, you had to do what you had to do. I went in really deep that time though,” Oakley said.

“You were talking all sorts of stuff, I couldn't help but hear you say a bunch about passages, tunnels and creatures. Then something about the Mountain Hold being right on top of—” Barber said before being cut off by Oakley.

“I'll tell you later, right now it would be too much. Let's just get this trade out of the way and we can be back to the Hold.” Oakley nodded at the approaching guard who was returning from the side gate area.

“Ok, you can come on through,” said the guardsman calling over to them. Barber eased the vehicle forward.

Oakley knew that his vision was only the beginning of what awaited them. Like a dark cloud looming in his mind he now knew a very deadly force was being amassed, the only question was where would it be directed and what form it would take.