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There appears for now enough talent and muscle on site. Men and women prepared to engage their specialized skills in the establishment of a robust operation. I arrived late to the game, as an ex-teacher, competent cook, armed with a tragic story willing to follow directions. Evidently, there was some discussion about my added value to the community. My acceptance was not unanimous. I’m in and plan to remain under the radar, do what I’m told while avoiding scrutiny from select members of the pack.
To the kitchen, I went working under the direction of Ms. Bishop. Gray-haired, grizzled, demanding, able to generate eatable meals out of nothing, and did I mention controlling? She presented herself as a follow-me and keep your thoughts to yourself. Not a skilled conversationalist, then again, neither am I. This I could do. She was not one to take criticism well, nor fond of whiners. And since access to food was critical, and she controlled the ladle, it was wise to oblige her distinctiveness. Smile and eat whatever hits the plate. In my case, a plus for working in the mess, in a place where meals are served, scrapes always within reach.
Ms. Bishop offered her culinary skills to oversee a not so well-stocked kitchen and empty pantry. When the new arrivals arrive she will cheerfully greet them at the main gate with, let’s just note for now a, food centric agenda. At these “meet and greet” sessions she announces, with vigor, with specificity “to join the commune they will need to leave all food items and cooking related utensils with her.” And any beast of burden and/or pets. This was not a well-received request, and excuses flowed freely. But… Sorry, no buts, either drop off all food items or leave. The price of admission. Like I said, if you seek access, you will need to add capacity, value, a talent/skill, food, or, “sorry, move along.” And she expected your contribution to offset the number of members in your clan.
She politely exposes the handle to her pistol. The “security team” adjusted their posture. Besides this, on the nearby roofs, sharpshooters are ready. Tough decision no doubt while Ms. Bishop waits. The smile was now gone.
Ms. Bishop nonchalantly, under her breath, mumbles, “Think this through. This is only one of many binding moments to be faced.”
Ultimately, if they choose not to ascribe to the expectations, they are led back through an adjoining gate, exit and sent on their way. Watched no second chance. The choices are obvious, decision are final. If they agree, search teams, stand at the ready to collect and break down all backpacks, search luggage, hidden compartment, and to owners dismay, watch when horses led away by stable hands. Everything is now prescribed. Locked in. Welcome home.
If an individual or family or group of, let’s say, persons of questionable character pause, or seekers quarrel, hesitate, or lack apparent value to the community, agents watch while petitioners invited to exit. Exiting, some in tears, some angry, some threatening retribution, all broken.
Don’t argue with Ms. Bishop, single never married, the oldest child of a large family responsible for the cooking and raising the younger children or Mr. Maddox, married with three children, once a contractor, recently a handyman until accused of stealing and selling materials.
Security in the hands of Mr. Maddox. We control, mostly, the high ground. We have formed a crew to encase our maintainable territory. Establish several watch towers. Negotiated mutual pacts, one to maintain a truce to the west. A non aggression agreement to the south. Mother Nature, try as she may to keep us out, protected the east and north. Barriers of cacti and critters. Security post constructed. In addition, supervised by Mr. Maddox, his team is to locate and install fences around the vulnerable section of the perimeter and build barricades.
We? We sat at assigned post watching, day/night, regardless of the weather, on guard. Pulled the trigger the other day, checked it out the next seeking evidence of having actually hitting someone, nothing, well, there was a chunk missing from our neighbor’s wall, oops.
One entry point capable of being controlled by a minimum number of security forces exists, except to the north. One rider granted entrance, controlled access to the campus. Entering single file where “guest” will remain in our line of fire from multiple angles. Mr. Maddox has shown both the capacity and ingenuity to lead a group of say ten to oversee this important operation. We feed them well. The north remains a concern.
The most mysterious member of the community, the mortician, his name… no one has a clue. Someone dies, he appears with his two helpers, collects the body, basic information, then gone. Married? The two helpers, sons? A close knit family, we are not.
The feared members of the community, members of the Scout Teams, currently two groups of five/six, charged with liberating necessities, acquiring donations, like wood or food, medical supplies, pretty much anything of value. They are the only members of the community that are free to leave, be gone for a few hours or a couple of days, then return with nothing or stuff, supplies, provisions delivered to the main workroom, headquarters.
There is no guarantee if five leave, five will return. And if fewer return than left, you hope and pray your slip does not say, SCOUT TEAM. Once in, assigned, there is no exit. Well, not totally true, desert, or meet the mortician. They have claimed that some are “selected”, having irritated some, or one of the decision makers. That’s why I plan on keeping my head down.
They all have a history, men who served in the military, or law enforcement, wanted by the “law” or just a tad nuts. Heroes weirdly. Upon returning from a peregrination (fancy word right), a journey, met at the stables to display their bounty and report their adventure/s. They are, sometime successful, but they are certainly know how to tell a tale.
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