The construction site settlement grew with a rapid slingshot effect. The next convoy to visit brought several unexpected items that dramatically expedited key projects.
The sole biggest surprise was construction equipment on extended loan. One was an extendable boom-arm forklift thing — Epstein referred to it as a "telehandler". It made an abrupt world of difference in getting heavy loads to the upper floors. Paired with that was a small civilian backhoe — bigger than a Bobcat, but barely a full-sized tractor.
Then, hundreds of empty sandbag sacks to start basic fortifications, and several odd kits consisting of large folding metal baskets and thick fabric liners that combined into open-topped cubes. Ronnie called them "Hescos", and said that even just a handful, once filled with dirt and gravel, would help them create some very solid cover at key locations.
On the cleaner side of things, a tabletop radio station, complete with a dozen individual handsets, to get effective comms off the ground. It wasn't everything Fairbanks wanted, but they could upgrade over time once the basics were in.
The roof was quickly encircled with and shaded by yards upon yards of camouflage netting, creating one large observation blind, hidden from exterior spotters and snipers, but ideal for their own. The sandbagged corner of the roof facing the main ramp and nearest street intersection gained an emplaced .50 caliber, and the other three corners had mounts for a single 7.62mm M60 medium machine gun that could migrate between them as needed.
A couple of Black Tusk's standard carbines (eventually identified as "HK 416's", which Rebecca commented just made the entire M4 / M16 thing even worse) and several surplus M4's were donated to kick start their communal armory, and Ronnie's expertise was crucial in providing some basic maintenance, handling, and marksmanship education. Multiple shaded, sandbag-fortified parking spots were built where the armored beast and the Humvee could be moved as mobile strongpoints.
Visiting patrols were able to leave them a small amount of fuel every week or two, which made occasional generator and vehicle use much more feasible until their biofuels project, well, took root sometime in the future. Sam also asked them to bring her every solar powered traffic sign and roadside call box pole they could find, and that boom lift made arraying them on the outer lower roofs and linking them into a proper budding solar farm a swift accomplishment — especially since many of them already came with some form of battery. She still supplemented with more batteries liberated from boat and RV dealers, at one point bringing a load home in an actual RV. Apparently, that one had been "enough of a bitch to get the batteries out of" that she simply decided to task her team with siphoning fuel from same vehicles they scavenged batteries from, and "just drive the whole damned thing home". (It became guest officer quarters and meeting space for Fairbanks and the like, when it wasn't being used as a kitchen because of its propane stove.) Long term, she dreamed of getting a Tesla Power Wall from somewhere, even if she'd have to figure out how it would hook in to everything. A "good problem to have", she'd called it.
In the meantime, she improvised dangling charging leads on the 25mm cannon mech (AKA 'Thorn'), and a dock for them to touch. It was too difficult to position it on top of the charger remotely, someone had to actually go watch it in person as they controlled it, but it was greatly reassuring to have that much firepower and 'bump in the dark' investigation capability parked at a warm ready inside a vacant storefront, especially once Sam managed to connect it to portable tablets, not just the mobile command station in the truck. She and Ronnie discussed potentially switching the cannon and the rooftop .50 cal for ammo availability reasons, but that was going to take a bunch of custom fabrication for the mounts and tinkering with firing mechanisms.
Rebecca and Sam didn't feel right moving into the original place Rebecca shared with Jaime, but found a nice corner unit on the fourth floor. Rebecca had forgotten how long it had been since she'd awoken in sunlight until it happened, illuminating Sam's hair in a brilliant luminous red as the usually lively engineer moaned and tried to bury her face the pillows, cursing the evil daystar. And oh god, a real mattress again... the first indulgence they allowed themselves with the promise of occasionally replenished fuel was a trip to a few mattress stores, bringing back several for everyone on Leonard's truck and Rebecca's old CUV.
It was weird being in her own car again, especially since the last person she remembered being in it with was Jaime. It helped though, knowing someone else had already ridden in it since then, when Allie and Leonard helped the new family move in. And, when she first approached it again, Sam offered to drive, and Rebecca rode in the passenger seat, which ended up being a gently bittersweet processing milestone for her, a little bit of a connection back to Jaime for a time.
Sam took Rebecca to a framing store where they picked out two for Jaime's sketches. The one of her looking out the window hung in the kitchen — they were on the opposite side of the building, intentionally. The slumbering sketch went where it ought to - over a dresser in their bedroom, and the fifth floor kid's drawing of Rebecca and Jaime hung in the foyer.
Rebecca hadn't been sure why Sam brought back several additional empty frames, but it made sense when she surprised her with a mid-grade consumer inkjet printer that supported wireless printing from phones. The ability to print out photos of their memories and families, new and old, went a long way into turning their new residence into a real home — even with the unfinished construction. Drywall would get painted eventually, and rugs and fuzzy slippers went a long way to offsetting the concrete floor. Sam swore better hot water would come next, "come hell or high water, preferably both, because that would solve the problem."
She also made good on her promises about the earrings, and Rebecca now wore one on her left ear most of the time, with a simple stud in her right to leave room for an earpiece. Sam told Rebecca she'd always wanted to get her bellybutton pierced, so they had Ronnie help, as Rebecca was too squeamish with needles and the idea of using one on Sam. They only mocked her a little bit.
She did, however, find an ornamented double chain that threaded through a decorative dangle in the front and fit around Sam's waist quite nicely, the lower of the two chains draping down to the top of her hips. This led to many t-shirts, tank tops, and button-ups being knotted tight to leave her midriff bare, which caused Rebecca, and for that matter, Sebastien, all kinds of distraction — to the point they would occasionally catch the other looking at the same time, and mutually shrug. He never did or said more than that on the topic, so she didn't shoot him to keep him away from her girlfriend.
Rebecca placed the matching cuff and stud earring atop Jaime's memorial, and the awesome lil' guy up there in the wheelchair took checking on it regularly VERY seriously during his "security sweeps" of the fifth floor. Sam rigged up some bicycle lights on his chair, which made his mother cry... on Ronnie's shoulder, who had taken a liking to the kid and started calling herself "Auntie Ronnie" when on the fifth floor. Huh, maybe someday she could indeed put that sword down. If the way she took care of Rebecca was any indication, the kid would fare well with her around to keep an eye on him.
Speaking of the memorial, Sam wept openly when Rebecca first went, insisting Sam come with her. It really got going when Rebecca 'introduced' her, telling him aloud how she never saw things with Sam coming, just like him, and thanked him for keeping her safe when the world went to hell. She went on to tell him she'd always miss him, that she thought he'd really like hanging out with Sam, and that yes, they would totally get it on, the three of them, if he were there... and that she would always remember him as the man he wanted to be, and was for her.
Oh, and that she was deeply sorry about shooting Rogelio, but he really was being an asshole.
Life at the "Garden Fort" as it came to be known really did center around family building, genetic and otherwise, for the little knot of core residents. As they grew, they did encounter some problems with regrettable residents, but those turned out to be mostly self-correcting situations. Thieves didn't stop before they got caught and turned out, and unpleasant people usually left of their own accord in the face of everyone else's tight-knit cohesion.
Allie WAS late, and the baby was only a few days early — well in time to get to the nurse at Broadway. Rebecca had never driven their big armored vehicle so quickly but so carefully, and needed a few minutes to catch her breath after parking. Getting a pregnant woman into such a high vehicle was easy with the loading dock, but took a little creativity at Broadway. Allie was a little embarrassed by how many people leapt to help with the effort, but the enthusiasm about a new life entering the world after so much loss was infectious. The baby was born a healthy weight, just a little below average, and the world would know her as Rosemary Anne Young.
Christine and Patrick gradually spent more and more time at the Garden Fort instead of at Broadway, and right after Rosemary came home, Chris was VERY interested in helping all she could, getting some hands-on practice and any advice Allie had to share over the upcoming six months — if Allie, ahem, knew what she meant.
Black Tusk kinda fucked off and left them alone. The early thrashings they'd received, combined with the city's burgeoning strength under Captain Tierman's plan, made it clear the locals were not going to be easily suppressed or exploited as a means to an end, and the PMC seemed to move on to whatever their larger objectives were.
Allie's gentle ministering to those seeking a faith at the Garden, or Broadway, or from the convoys, or even friendly and on-the-level wanderers, reminded Rebecca deep down of some of the lessons Ronnie sought to teach her about remembering people and carrying on. She supposed the wrath of an angry NCO could fit in with Old Testament material. However, both Ronnie's wrath and Allie's warm messages made one thing clear — kindness and acceptance would be the way of the future, one way or the other, and there were those comfortable with the contradiction of fighting fiercely for peace, to finish a fight swiftly and absolutely if someone started one. That was something she could get behind.
Sam didn't let Rebecca give up on the idea of finding her mom. That idea drove them to start a list of every resident, every guest they'd met, any details they could about where they were from or going, what their skills were... and to push Fairbanks to try to institutionalize the practice across settlements and patrols. He also promised to inform them of any contact with the region her mom and uncle would hopefully be in, while the ladies gradually planned and prepared for a longer-range scouting mission. One day while entering a few new lines on her laptop, Sam observed that it was probably the most important spreadsheet she'd ever worked on.
Trent eventually figured out how to make tofu, with Allie's suggestions for steps he was missing. He was still working on how to use it properly.
Erik continued to name big guns things like Mjolnir and Gungnir. He only gave steel magazines to people on garrison duty, or mostly riding around in vehicles.
A particularly rough-and-tumble group of wanderers led to some tense moments at the gate in the early spring, until Rebecca's jaw dropped because she recognized the tattoos of Catherine, her proto-crush from Sociology 112. She'd run yelling between the two groups, and Cat had a good laugh as she removed the carbon fiber full-face mask she wore. During their short stay, she complimented Rebecca on growing out of her meek shell and becoming such a badass, eyed Sam speculatively, and then congratulated the two of them when the petite redhead gave no ground. She labeled them as "a-fucking-dorable", but was glad they could clearly take care of themselves. If she was unnerved to learn just how much firepower might have come to bear on her group, she didn't show it.
By a fire pit that evening, Rebecca proposed an ongoing symbiotic bartering arrangement. On top of the obvious benefits of intel and information sharing between a well-connected settlement and a highly mobile group, Catherine's little tribe could scavenge and salvage for the Garden during their travels and receive the benefits of a static location in exchange. Shelter, secure storage while they roamed, produce and crops, a large reserve of filtered water, battery charging, Sam's or occasionally even Epstein's assistance with repairs, and for anything really worth the premium, a little fuel, ammunition, or firearms.
Cat declared that since Rebecca had always held up her end on group projects, they'd give it a shot — and laughed when some of the first requests off Rebecca's tongue included a jasmine plant, vanilla extract, and all the chocolate chips they could find.
Sebastien found himself on Catherine's radar the second time her group stopped by with a haul. He was helping offload a hefty air compressor and pneumatic mechanic's tools, several coils of hose for a misting system Rebecca wanted on the roof before summer settled in, and an entire replacement wheel and tire for the flatfooted sedan. His pair of cutoff fatigues and sleeveless shirt left multiple tattoos visible, and Cat leaned over to Rebecca to describe him as "an absolutely delectable looking snack", inquiring after his availability. As far as Rebecca knew, he was, but she silently hoped she would actually see him again rather than learn Catherine had literally gone full praying (preying?) mantis on him.
At one point a couple truckloads of (probably drunk) yahoos pulled up, belching smoke like train locomotives from time to time, which was often accompanied by hooting and yelling. Apparently, they'd heard of a place with "lots of stuff" run by "three lesbians", and wanted to... well, Rebecca wasn't really sure what they set out hoping to accomplish. But, she got to feel really, really fucking awesome when she tired of them, lifted her right hand, extended one finger, and twitched it forward.
She still jumped like everyone else when a single .50 caliber round boomed overhead and punched right through the lead truck's engine block, but damn if it wasn't fun to watch steam and smoke gush from under the front half of the truck as the engine died with a whistle and an unhealthy clatter. She thought she even saw an 'exit wound' blow out beneath the lifted truck, a splash of metal fragments and oil hitting the ground energetically enough to send gravel skittering.
Ronnie had been telling her how accurate the first shot from an M2 could be, and now she truly believed it. They rolled the abandoned disemboweled masculinity joke down the ramp to an out of the way corner — maybe "LCpl" Epstein could turn it into a project once he figured out what on earth they did to the smog control system. Within the week, Sam had angrily taped up a rainbow-striped pride flag (which they'd found on the same mall trip as the piercing shop) to the inside of the windshield out of spite.
That incident did make Rebecca think, though. She and Allie really had been handling most people-related matters for a few months. Sam and Leonard were naturally the deciding voices for infrastructure, and she realized she was starting to feel like a reasonably competent second to Ronnie's leadership on tactical and strategic matters.
Had she really grown to be one of the leaders of a group that was rapidly approaching 30 people, before she was even that many years old? So many people depending on her?
She wondered about that one night, staring up at the ceiling dimly lit by ambient moonlight and a handful of solar powered nightlights, listening to Sam's microsnores next to her. Maybe that was one take on what Sam and Ronnie kept telling her all these months. She thought about everyone who carried, cheered, or simply walked with her in so many stages of her life, some handing her from one to the next. Was it about accepting the presence, and the loss, walking next to (...no, she liked walking with, or walking for...) someone else, maybe even so they could pass it on themselves? She had a mental image of people, walking hand-in-hand in groups of two or three, then four or six, then all together out of this fuckpocalypse.
Sure, that's as good a notion as any, as she rolled over to put an arm around Sam, pressed her nose into the faint cinnamon scented hair when her girl stirred and nestled closer, and drifted off to sleep with her lips resting lightly on the nape of Sam's neck.
~ Fin ~