Dad turned the truck into the dirt parking lot outside of the town limits.
"This place is full," I said, scanned sea of vehicles. "I've never seen it packed before."
It was extremely rare to have the parking lot full. Not when vehicles were hard to come by and gasoline was so expensive. People who were anglers or hunters had trucks to pull their equipment or to drive to markets. Half of the farmers in the area had trucks while the other half used tractors. Everyone else either walked everywhere, used their bike, or road horses.
Dad made his way to the back of the parking lot while I took an inventory of vehicles. I recognized most of them since we all went to the same markets.
There was Smith's old, white, beat-up farm truck. The Jameson's truck usually had some kind of animal carcass in the back since they were one of the few registered hunters. The Jones' black truck looked like if it hit one more pothole, it would fall apart. Mr. Jones had told us that by the end of the year, he would have to sell a horse or some of his cattle to afford a different vehicle. Not a new truck, though.
The government built newer vehicles that ran on battery, but they sold those at a high price. A price so high that most of the rich can't afford them. Since people didn't travel long distances much, civilians didn't bother buying cars. The government officials and military used them.
Mr. Jones would have to buy some old trucks from one of the very few mechanics in the area. Mechanics had two jobs: fixing broken cars and rebuilding Old World vehicles to sell.
"Mrs. Daisy is here," I said. We passed a little white car.
"She shouldn't be here," Dad grumbled. "This could turn nasty, and she doesn't need to be in the middle of it."
"Good luck telling her that," I laughed. Mrs. Daisy's husband was one of the few mechanics in the area before he died. He was the one that we bought our truck from and who Dad trusted only to work on the truck when it needed fixed. Mr. Daisy died a few years back. A heart attack under one of his cars. Since then, I often saw Mrs. Daisy in town to gather gossip.
We passed eight more trucks before we pulled into a spot beside a red one. Jonah and Tim sat on the down tailgate.
I swung the door closed and stepped to where Jonah sat.
"Hey," I said.
Jonah looked down at me and gave me a weak smile. Worry lines set in his face, although he was too young to have them. He was only two years my senior.
Tim looked more troubled. He slid out of the truck when Dad reached us. "So, we're back at it." Tim's words grim.
"It seems like it," Dad answered. "We better go. It looks like the entire town knows about this." The older men walked down the dirt parking lot toward the main road.
Jonah jumped down from the bed of the truck, his long brown hair flowing. I'd always been jealous of his hair that reached below his chest. Not jealous because of the length. My hair was as long as his. No, I was jealous because his hair was smooth and shiny while mine was dull, dirty blond with unmanageable soft curls that never cooperated. Most days, like today, I pulled my hair back in a French braid.
"What's going on?" I asked Jonah as he lifted the tailgate.
Jonah let the distance between us and our dads grow before he followed.
"Don't know much. Just what I already told you. There was a bad attack on the Barricade and there's a Town Meeting," Jonah said. I fell into step beside him.
"But doesn't your dad know what's going on?" I asked. Tim used to be a part of the military. Maybe he knew something from old friends.
"He had his old military scanner and radio turned on," Jonah said, "But he didn't say much about it. Didn't want to worry my brothers if they overheard. What about your dad? He was ex-military too."
"You know the answer."
Jonah nodded.
Dad never spoke about his time in the military.
There was a significant difference between Tim and Dad. Tim retired thirteen years ago when his wife fell ill. He kept a few items that he shouldn't have, like his military scanner and radio, though they took his gun. Tim would occasionally share stories of his time in the military, and he still spoke to a few friends.
Dad was the opposite. When he retired nineteen years ago when I was born. He didn't keep anything from the military. No awards he may have won, no scanners, radios, friends, or guns. He never talked about it.
He and Tim were both in the army during the last Rebel Uprising twenty-five years ago. When I was ten years old and learning about the Rebel Uprising in school, I attempted to ask Dad about it. Dad would change the subject, or tell me not to ask him questions, or just ignore the question.
We reached the main road and turned toward the tiny town. Beyond our dads was the main street. Between the storefronts was a crowd of people. There had to be nearly two hundred people already.
Though I couldn't see it, the people surrounded a dais that always appeared in the center of the street before the mayor's office whenever there was a large town event or Town Meeting.
Dad glanced back at us. He nodded his head to the storefronts. We caught his meaning, and we trailed them to the nearest store.
On a normal day, the almost two dozen stores would be open. There were the Healers, General Store, Fabrics Shop, Boat Equipment, Tool and Tac, and other stores that I rarely went through. The mayor's office was located in the center of the stores, with the Inn and restaurant across the street.
Beyond downtown was standalone buildings like the school, firehouse, hospital that was more like a one-room clinic, and the Guard Garrison. Behind the stores and public buildings were the neighborhoods where the townspeople lived in homes that were built before the Last Great War.
We neared the General Store. Two benches were positioned outside the large store's windows. Little Mrs. Daisy sat in one of them. In her hands, she worked on knitting a scarf, or maybe a sweater. She smiled brightly up at us. "Good afternoon gentlemen, and Ms. Mel."
"Hello, Mrs. Daisy. Do you mind if we join you?" Tim asked.
Mrs. Daisy's smile brightened. "Of course!" Her knobby fingers from age continued to work on her knitting as she watched us with her large eyes behind her glasses. "I could always use the company."
"Mrs. Daisy, you should be careful here," Dad said. "This meeting could turn bad."
Mrs. Daisy's eyes narrowed. "Let it!" she said. "I'm old and need some entertainment." Mrs. Daisy's smile widened, and she leaned forward like giving a secret. "And that's why I am sitting over here, my dear. To stay out of the crowd."
Dad shook his head, and I hid a smile. Though they didn't want to join the crowd, Dad and Tim stood on the sidewalk's edge with their arms crossed. Jonah and I leaned against the General Store's window beside the bench. Stepping on tiptoes, I could barely make out the spot where the dais should be.
"Can you see?" Jonah smirked from a foot above me. I elbowed him in the ribs.
Cursed of being shorter than everyone made it hard to see in crowds. Jonah knew that. His mouth opened, probably to ask if I wanted a stepping stool. I elbowed him again to shut him up.
"Mrs. Daisy, do you mind if I stand on the end of the bench beside you?" I asked.
"Of course not, my dear."
"Thank you," I said as I got up on the bench. With my new height, I was half a foot taller than Jonah, who leaned against the wall beside me.
The crowd before us was nervous. Most of them talked to their neighbor, that caused the entire area to babble with stressed chatter.
The four of us stood quietly while minutes rolled by. We watched more and more people join the fray. Within half an hour, nearly a hundred more people joined us on this side of town. Everyone was getting restless under the warm afternoon sun. With each passing minute, tension seemed to rise.
No sooner than Dad and Tim commented on the tension, a hush spread across the people. A few doors down from us the mayor's office door opened and closed. The crowd was silent by the time plump Mayor Roma stepped on the dais. Four other men joined him. Three of them I knew and one I did not.
The tall, broad-chest man to Mayor Roma's right was Commander Guard Frye. He was Mayor Roma's faithful second-in-command and commander of the town's guards. The man to Mayor Roma's left was Mr. Whitman. The harsh tax collector who seemed not to know how to smile. The third man who stood close behind the trio was Mayor Roma's bodyguard. A man dressed in a military uniform stood close by. I had never seen him before.
"Thank you all for coming," Mayor Roma's voice boomed above the townspeople's heads. "I regret to inform you all that I have grave news."
A small whisper spread across the crowd. Mayor Roma raised his hands along with his voice as he spoke, "My good people, I want to emphasize firstly we are not going into war."
"Not yet!" someone yelled from the crowd, followed by voices in agreement.
Mayor Roma shot a look at the man who spoke to be quiet and to let him finish.
"Let me continue and then there will be time to answer questions at the end." The crowd was hushed again. "As some of you know and most of you may not know. There was an attack on the Barricade two nights ago during a thunderstorm near Chicago. This attack was unprovoked by the people of the Wastes. The Royal Palace sent out a statement that all forty guards involved in the attack, they did not survive. When reinforcements came, some rebels had fled back into the Wastes. From camera footage, many rebels had made their way into the United Regions.
"As you all know, each town has its own guards. Our guards, led by Commander Guard Frye, have plans in action to protect the people within our town's limits. The military is sending additional soldiers to each region. I will assure you we will protect you and your homes. I will pass your attention to Lieutenant Colonel O'Brien."
The man in the military suit stepped forward. By placing his hands behind his back, his chest puffed out proudly like a peacock.
"That's Larry O'Brien?" Tim whispered loud enough for us to hear. "I knew him from my military days. We were both in basic together. He's an idiot. Who made him Lieutenant Colonel? Before I retired, he was stuck at sergeant."
The proud peacock pulled a piece of paper from his front chest pocket and unfolded it. His eyes returned to the people before he spoke. "I bring a message from our King. 'In the light of the tragic event that happened on April the second, in the year 2257, at the Barricade, the loss of life saddens us. We, as a nation, will not allow the Rebels of the Wastes to harm our kin and damage our homes and land. The United Regions Military is taking steps to keep you, the people of the United Regions, safe from further attacks while the Army and Special Operations Alliance will uncover the rebels' plans.
"'For the time being, we will not declare war on the Wastes. I, King Roth of the United Regions, wish to find a diplomatic means to end these attacks before a war manifests. Many of us remembered what it was like twenty-five years ago during the Rebel Uprising. I do not wish to reenact those dark days.
"'Though our intentions are well, we must, as a nation, prepare for a potential war once more. The military asks all young and able sons and daughters to join the armed forces. Though our army is strong and ready to fight, need our numbers to strength. Join and fight, not for your country, but for your mother, father, your children, your homeland, your way of life.'"
O'Brien stepped back from the center of the dais.
Relief that felt like warm water on a chilly day washed over my body. No war. No draft.
Well, not yet anyway.
"That's it?" someone yelled from the crowd, "You come here and tell us they will protect us because the army is bringing people here, but yet you want our children to join because there aren't enough people in the army?"
"Is there going to be a draft?" another voice yelled.
"There has to be!"
"Everyone please," Major Roma yelled over the voices. Major Roma raised his hands to calm the crowd, but it did no good.
"If there're rebels about," cried a voice close to where we stood, "Then make guns legal so I can protect my home and my children!"
"Yes!" several people yelled.
Somewhere, a chant had begun. "Legalize guns. Legalize guns." The chant grew louder and louder. Mayor Roma stood on the dais, his face pink from yelling over the people to restore order.
He spun to the others who stood on the dais with him. Lieutenant Colonel O'Brien seemed unimpressed with the people. Mr. Whitman looked at the crowd down his nose like he always did. Only Commander Guard Frye stepped forward, his arms raised to gather the crowd's attention.
The crowd only grew louder. People in the streets pushed each other. A storm was brewing above our heads. I shot a look at Jonah, who face told me he felt it too. If the crowd didn't calm down, a riot would start. Commander Guard Frye saw the shift too. He raised his pistol in the air and fired two shots.
The crowd was hushed.
"We all know why guns are illegal for nonmilitary folk," Guard Frye's voice boomed over the heads of the people. "At the creation of our kingdom, we illegalized guns because there was a long history of gun violence in this land. Shootings at public places like stores and parks, in schools, and on the streets. With the creation of our kingdom, we left the weapons solely for the military. Do you really want everyone to have a gun? Fear leads people to be trigger-happy. Next thing you know, when you go to visit your neighbor, you're shot because they thought you were a rebel." He did not lower his booming voice, though everyone was quiet. "Do we want to start another war with the Rebels? Remember the pain we suffered last when we fought them?" Guard Frye walked a few steps across the dais to empathize with the limp he had on his left side.
Most of the younger townspeople knew the story of how he got his limp. When we talked of the Rebel Uprising during history class in school, Commander Guard Frye would come in and speak about his time in the army.
He was a high-ranking officer, a colonel. When he badly damaged his leg, they forced him to retire and go home. He had assumed that would be the end of his military career, but he was good friends with Mayor Roma. When Frye healed, Mayor Roma gave him the job of Commander Guard of Northport. The job was more of a leadership role than a fighting role, which fit him well. Despite his body being injured, his mind remained sharp.
"In the King's message, he states he will find a diplomatic solution for this entire ordeal. Until he does, he asks us, the people of this kingdom, to aid him and the army."
"But how do we protect ourselves?"
"Join the military. We hope that there will be no need for a draft. To keep the draft at bay, we need people to join the Royal Army and Alliance. Any person over the age of nineteen can join. And every year, Alliance sends out invitations to young men and women to join their ranks."
We knew very little about the Alliance. They were the special operations. In history class at school, the teacher explained they were much like the Old World's Navy Seals. The Alliance officers were the ones to do the spying, planning, and dirty work like assassinations.
Each year the Alliance sent out letters to recently graduated nineteen-year-olds. Not many receive an invitation.
Before graduating from school, each student across the United Regions participated in a weeklong examination. Most of it was math, science, history, and English to see how well the school taught their students. They send the test scores to the government. The government dishes out money to the better schools.
One of the last examinations was an aptitude test. The test was stupid, and I didn't really consider my answers. All the questions were hypothetical, morally driven, and problem-solving. The day I took the exam it was the last day of school and all I wanted to do was to get out of the classroom.
Rumor was the aptitude test helps decide who gets invited to join the Alliance. There was no way in hell I would get an invitation, nor would I join if I did get one.
"That's not good enough!" yelled another voice.
Voices echoed their agreement.
"I heard enough," Dad said. "They are going to go back and forth until they are blue in the face."
"I agree with you," Tim said. They turned to Jonah and me.
"Mel, let's go," Dad said. "Want us to walk you to your car, Mrs. Daisy?"
"No dear, I am going to stay here and see how this plays out. And don't you fret about my safety." She held up a knitting needle. The pointed end was dull but could still take out an eye. "I can keep myself safe."
We all cracked a smile. "I am sure you will." Dad shook his head.
"Goodbye Mrs. Daisy, thanks for sharing your seat," I said as I jumped off the bench. Mrs. Daisy gave me a small wave goodbye and went back to knitting.
"So," I half turned to Jonah so he could hear me while I followed Tim and Dad through the crowd. "Do you think there could be a draft?"
Jonah shrugged. "I think it could happen in a few months. I may join now."
I shot back to look at him. "What?"
Jonah's dark blue eyes were clear. "I don't want to join. But it has come to that."
I watched Jonah as my feet stumbled into someone. I flung myself around to catch my footing. "Oh, I'm sorry Mr. Tanker." Mr. Tanker didn't give me the time of day as he listened to Frye, who still bellowed behind us.
Though I wanted to ask what the hell Jonah was thinking of joining the army, I focused on slithering through the tight crowd. Dad and Tim had vanished already. To keep from losing me, Jonah held on to the bottom of my unbuttoned plaid shirt.
What felt like minutes later, we stepped out of the cluster. Dad and Tim were several feet ahead, their heads together as they talked.
"You want to join the army?" I asked him again. Jonah was not a military person. The image of him in camouflage fatigues couldn't even process through my head.
Jonah shook his head and brushed some long hair behind his ear. "I don't want to join. But I am. Dad told me on the way here he's going out of retirement to rejoin the army. He got a letter the other day, asking him to consider rejoining. He would receive his rank of major and a larger salary than what he had. I'm going to speak with him. If I join, I think that means my brother won't have to be drafted. My middle brother is eighteen. He will be eligible to be drafted this fall when he turns nineteen. My youngest brother is fourteen." Jonah took a deep breath. "If I go, that means my brother can stay home to watch my younger brother. He can work for the Spencer's fishery until we return. There's something else."
I glanced up at my oldest friend. His thoughts caused his eyes to glaze over as he spoke out loud. "If I go, they will pay me more than I can imagine. With the money I make, I can get Mary an engagement ring. And I could save money to get a decent house. You know the fish industry doesn't pay much." Silence fell between us as I tumbled into my thoughts.
A small pang of hurt shot through my chest at the mention of Mary. It wasn't anger at Mary. The hurt was rather sadness. Two summers ago, Jonah and I had dated for a few months. Despite being best friends, we weren't right for each other. Things became complicated and before any harm could damage our over ten-year friendship, we broke off our dating.
I was grateful that we continued to be friends. I love him and I knew he loved me. He knew all my secrets, and I knew all of his. We both knew what to say to cheer each other up. We understood each other without speaking.
I was truly happy for Mary. In fact, I really liked her, and she made Jonah happy. She was what I could never be for Jonah. He wanted a pretty wife who wanted to carry many children. Someone who would stay home to bake bread, make a dinner every night. Someone who would milk a cow, raise chickens, and grow a little garden.
I was none of that.
That life was something I could never live.
If ever I were to have a partner, I wanted someone with whom I would work side by side. Someone who wakes up early to work and to fall into bed with each night exhausted. I wanted someone to be okay with the fact that I may never want to have kids.
After a few minutes of walking, Jonah and I turned off the road and onto the pothole-infested parking lot.
"What about you?" Jonah asked. "Think your dad would rejoin?" He nodded to where Tim and Dad neared our trucks
I heaved a laugh. "Dad? No. He won't even talk about his old days in the army. He would never rejoin. And me? I don't think so."
"Not even if you get one of those fancy Alliance letters?"
A smile cracked at the craziness of the question. "Hell no. I'm good with staying here with Dad. We have a decent life here and the fishing isn't bad. Of course, the pay is shit. But it makes me happy. I won't get a letter, anyway. You must be the best of the best to get in. Ace every test and have near-perfect marks on that stupid aptitude test. I won't get in."
"I wouldn't be so sure." Jonah slid a half smile to me. "You were one of the smartest in your class. You're good enough to be asked to join."
"No, and don't speak it into existence!" I playfully slapped his arm. "I won't be. What about you?"
"I missed my time. They only introduce nineteen-year-olds after high school. If you don't have the grades in school, then you're out of the running."
Oh yeah. Nineteen was the age cutoff for new Alliance recruits. The Alliance created super soldiers. They needed people who were young and in their physical prime and their minds could still be molded, but also needed people mature enough to handle it.
We reached our trucks at the end of the parking lot, where Dad and Tim faced each other. "We can be at your place tomorrow at nine in the morning if that works for you?" Tim said.
Dad nodded. "We'll have breakfast ready." Dad rounded the truck to get in. Tim waved me forward to allow me to get into the truck first.
"I'll see you tomorrow," I said to Jonah and hurried to the truck Dad waited for me to get inside before the truck roared to life. The furrowed brow and tight jaw told me that Dad was grumpy.
I knew that face well. Dad didn't get grumpy, like truly grumpy often. Usually, he was bright and quick to share a very bad joke.
With that sour expression on his face, I knew it was not the time to ask him questions. Though, I badly wanted to ask what his thoughts were on the meeting. And what he thought about Tim going back. Or Jonah joining to save his brothers. If dad didn't plan to go back to the army, maybe Jonah's brothers could live with us instead of going to the Spencer's.
I exhaled. No, they needed to go to the Spencer's. They had more money than we did.
Instead of asking Dad questions, I settled in my seat and laid my head back.