Campers

Campers are directed along the east side of the enclave until they see a man directing them to park. They enter through a pair of tall garage doors and ushers bring them into a gym with bleachers for seating. Basketball hoops and lines, tumbling pads across the court. Doors around the perimeter lead to locker rooms and classrooms.
Ushers help people find seating areas so families and friends stay together.

John II and the Chief stand just outside the entry door. The Chief tells his wife to drive the Chief’s car to where the enclave’s vehicles are stored. John II’s wife goes with her. John II doesn’t want anyone to see the Chief’s police car as it might cause concern, or panic. John II hands the Chief a belt and holster for the enclave’s laser pistols. Much quieter than the Chief’s 9mm. Whispering to the Chief, “We need your police mindset. We all have our laser pistols because we are afraid.”

The Chief feels like one of the enclave members, now, pistol and all. But with a new kind of fear. The fear of the untrained in a new era, all with pistols. He’s aware of a different sort of man—the kind the police pursue. The same kind this untrained team is afraid of.
“I’ve been seeing a lot of fear, both here and in Whitefish. I’m not the Chief here, no one is. You’re the leader but not a police chief. My mindset is different than yours. We need to stay close.”
“Yeah. I’m glad we’ve known each other over the years. Let’s go sit,” says John II.

John II and the Chief take a seat on the front row of the bleachers nearest the door, along with the Chief’s wife and kids.

John I comes over to them before he speaks to the crowd. He wants John II and the Chief to stand beside him while he speaks so they can see the audience—especially the Chief. The Chief knows how to read people in a crowd.

The three stand in front, John I closer to the audience. He raises his hands. The crowd quiets. The sharper-eyed notice the pistols on all three.

John I says, “Here’s what we know. Here’s what we think. Here’s what needs to be done. Nuclear bombs have wiped out Seattle and Vancouver, maybe Spokane. Ashy dust has closed in on us and we can’t see more than ten feet. Now it’s coming with a little radiation.”

“Mommy, I’m scared Mommy.”

John I turns to the girl, takes a step forward, saying, “It’s OK, honey. It’s OK. You’re safe here.”

He continues, “Our best guess is one chest X-ray for each hour you’re outside. We can’t communicate with our satellites due to debris in the atmosphere so we can’t see what the Earth looks like.”

The crowd rumbles, people speak up, kids cry.

“Let them cry, it’s OK. But you’re safe here. We built this place to keep us safe.

I’ll take a few questions when I’m done. In two weeks the radiation won’t be a problem. The dust will ease a bit as time goes on, but it will be hazy for the long term.

Finally, outside of this enclave, there is no water, electricity, fuel, or safety. Even if you left, you’d run out of gas or your vehicle’s battery would drain and you couldn’t charge it. A few people from Whitefish may make it here—we don’t know.”

“We were just at Whitefish,” says a little boy.

John I continues, “Except for you, no one else will be allowed in unless we put them through a triage system similar to yours. But we’re concerned others might try to attack us. That’s what we’re afraid of, though we’re prepared for that. We have sentinels beyond the enclave.”

“We’ve been building this enclave for 45 years so there are some things you need to know, and some things you need to do.

For now, you’ll stay here in the gym. There’s locker rooms to clean up. You’ll set up your camping gear, even a tent, here. It will give you a little privacy until we make better arrangements.

We have a communications system we call Q. Download Q to your phones or mobile devices. None of your apps are  working because everything is down, except here. You’ll use Q here. It will be on all the time. It’s required for food distribution, medical checks, kids’ locations, and yours, inside the enclave. You can ask Q any questions; you don’t have to wait to see us in person, but we’ll be nearby. You must use Q. We’ll be able to keep you safe. Without our protection in here, you’ll die, as will most of the people in Whitefish.”

The Chief is scanning the crowd for known troublemakers. He doesn’t notice any at the moment.
John I adds, “Before I answer any questions, get Q loaded and set it up.”

A few kids scamper up the bleachers away from their parents, thinking it fun. The parents whisper-yell at their kids to stay here. But people are chatting, looking at each other’s devices.

A woman with a red scarf around her face stands and says, “My god, I never thought of this. We were just here to camp, now it’s the, the…end of the world! My god!” Others are mumbling, more crying.

“It’s not the end of the world,” says another. “It’s just nukes and dust. Dust as far as we can see, which is only ten feet. Scarves around our faces helps, out there. Yes, everything we knew is now gone. But we’re alive. Safe. No one knows what will happen next. Let’s not do anything stupid. It’s just nukes and dust.”

Another man with a red/black plaid jacket yells, “What’s stupid? What if I think it’s not stupid but you think it is?” The Chief notices and picks him to keep an eye on. Too ready to argue. He’s seen many.

John II steps forward. “What’s stupid right now is to yell at each other. You need to do this. Get Q on your phone and set it up. Once that happens, you can ask a million questions. But now you can go outside and get your camping gear—at least your tent, sleeping bag and pads, other clothes. Don’t worry about food. We’ve got food for you. We’ll help you get set up here in the gym. Kids can play rough and tumble on the mats across the court. You can then take showers. Once you’re all set up and showered, we’ll gather again and answer any questions. And we will bring food.”

The crowd settles. Q gets downloaded. People go to their vehicles and get their gear. But there’s rumbling, whispering.

Q goes active. Everyone hears their device beep, then hears Q talk to them when they put their device to their ear.

Q: I am Q. Welcome to the enclave. I am glad you’re here.

A little girl with a scarf over her mouth whispers to her dad, “We’re never going home.”
He says, “Home might be gone, nuked.”
She replies, “We can’t get there, anyway, not now. Ever? Daddy, will we ever get back home?”

Q: I don’t know. But if I can help you, I will. I’ll remember that you want to go home. But you’re safe here, with me, now. You are logged.