Chapter 1: Cam
Cam grew up knowing the world was going to hell, but he hadn’t expected a front-row seat. He mused on this as he gazed into the cleared land outside the wall from Watch Tower 1. Steam rose from the ground, backlit by the pale yellowish glow piercing through the morning mist. An unfamiliar, battered blue pickup with slatted livestock walls approached on the gravel road to the main entrance of Vita xTerra, the walled bunker city he called home.
Shit. He drained his now-cooled tea before heading below to speak with the driver. If the commotion by the gate was any indication, the newcomers’ arrival would cause controversy amongst the leadership.
He nodded at the two guards sharing his post. “Watch below. Radio Towers 2 and 30 to ready back up. Weapons ready. Assume I’m fine unless I signal.” As ranking member of the Watch on duty, he was responsible for making the hard calls—like who was permitted inside the walls. He blew out a puff of air. This sucked. He descended the rough wooden treads of the guard tower, each step echoing in the dim stairwell.
Cam stopped, rereading the memo tacked to the door on his way outside. The crisp white paper like a gaping wound on the unpainted wood. He clenched a fist. As if he’d forget something so contentious.
*Important Policy Change*
Only existing citizens of xTerra permitted inside the gate.
No refugees.
No exceptions.
-Mayor Dolores Montgomery
He exhaled heavily, girding himself for the upcoming conversation. This would be the second time he would have to explain the new policy and send someone away, crushing their hopes of living in a haven, away from the unrest and chaos beyond xTerra’s walls. He hadn’t slept for a week the last time, plagued by visions of the family thrown to the wolves—figuratively speaking.
The reality was more like enslaved by the Slains or dead in a ditch.
Once outside, in the shadow of the high walls, Cam gestured to a guard to open the thick gate enough for him to pass through. The frosted gravel crunched beneath his boots as he strode toward the cargo truck. Maybe it was just a delivery.
At first glance, it was clear why the truck had been permitted past the outer gate several miles back. The box held more than a dozen live pigs, milling and snuffling in the chilly morning air. He could go for some crispy bacon.
He checked in with the guards above. They had their rifles trained on the stationary truck and would watch through their scopes for any hint of aggression or weapons. He returned his gaze to the truck, making out four shapes in the cab.
Cam motioned to the driver with his gloved hand. The battered door of the dirt-encrusted truck opened with a squawk of rusty hinges, setting his teeth on edge. Out stepped a short, wiry-looking man of about seventy. He reminded Cam of his surrogate grandfather, who’d passed eight years earlier, beforeall hell broke loose. The kind of tough-as-nails, no-nonsense man Cam respected.
Still, he kept his hand on the pistol at his hip as he approached the driver.
The older man closed the truck door and remained close to the vehicle, his wary eyes studying Cam’s approach.
He stopped ten yards away. “How can we help you?”
“I was invited to join xTerra a couple years back,” the old man said. “At that time, we just wanted to be left alone to work our land and raise our animals. We tried to follow the rules and co-exist with the Slains.” He spat on the ground. “That’s now ended.”
“Who invited you?” said Cam, trying to keep the surprise from his voice. This wasn’t as straightforward as yes or no—no matter the rule.
“A big guy. Said he was on his way here.”
Cam’s heart sank. Probably a casual invitation then, not a solid excuse to let them stay. He needed something ironclad. From the generic description, it could have been any of a dozen guys. “You mind if I ask a few questions?” Cam removed his hand from his gun. If something went sideways, the guards above would take the shot. However, the old man didn’t appear to be armed, and Cam’s instincts told him this man wasn’t a threat.
“Go ahead.” The old man seemed calm and respectful. That was something.
“Who’s in the truck?” Cam couldn’t discern anything beyond three indistinct figures.
“My wife, Suzie, and our two granddaughters.” His grizzled jaw flared.
“How old are the girls?” Cam indicated the passengers with a toss of his chin. He could make out very little from this angle.
“Seventeen and eighteen. Y’all didn’t ask, but I’m Bryan Clark. We’re from up Gillette way.”
“Cam Montgomery.” He nodded. “Wyoming then. Practically local.” Gillette was less than two hours’ drive from here. xTerra was in South Dakota, but parts of Wyoming and Nebraska ran almost to their borders. “Why now?” If they lived so close, the family could have come to xTerra at any point in the last seven years. Until recently, they would have been admitted. He suppressed a sigh.
Damn his mother and her ridiculous rules.
