Thurmond gave a sigh and looked across the table to President Daniels. It wasn’t clear when he spoke, though, whether he was actually talking to the former president or not. “Let’s not get into that argument again. We’ve already voted. Twice. Cap’n Sam’s the security officer here, and this is a security matter. Probably we all better defer to his judgment, don’t you think? That, or to someone with a bit more experience in this kind of arena?”

  That, he clearly intended for Daniels. Everyone else knew it, too, because all four of the other leaders turned toward the man sitting almost alone at his part of the table.

  Caleb observed the former president. The man who let the east coast burn. The one who lost control of his military cabinet, including General Thomas. Now, he didn’t look like the kind of strong, confident man who’d delivered State of the Union addresses or gone to stand proudly before Russian oligarchs not a year ago. He looked like an old man with a lot to repent for.

  What he could have to say about this situation, or what insight he might share, Caleb couldn’t imagine. He didn’t look as though he wanted to be here at all. Nonetheless, after a few seconds of apparent contemplation, he spoke with a calm, gentle voice, devoid of the kind of energy he’d often had on the campaign trail.

  “You’re right not to trust Welcher.” He nodded toward Samuels before giving Doctor Herndon a regretful, tight-lipped smile. “Not that I believe Springfield should keep itself isolated for the duration, mind you. There are a lot of people out there we could help from this place.”

  He spread his hands across the table. “But you can be sure that if Welcher comes in and takes over, she’ll move people out, turn this place into a military operation, and most of the supplies will be directed to the Army and Marine Corps. She’d figure they need the support to be out there making order. Everything west and north of here is under Martial law. However, more importantly…”

  He paused and rubbed his jaw. “I tried hard to get Big Tech and other lobbyists out of politics during my first year. Welcher made big moves to oppose that legislation, had it killed in committee more than once, and then pulled strings in the Senate to keep it from being voted on when she couldn’t keep it dead in the House.

  “Trusk was one of her biggest donors, though it’s not entirely public knowledge. The two of them have been in bed together for years. So, even if you did want to offer her a deal, my best guess is that Apex is more or less interchangeable with the military by now.”

  A heavy blanket of worried silence smothered the gathering. His leg ached and his shoulder throbbed. A brief wave of dizziness hit him, and he closed his eyes and breathed deep until it passed. It left him just about willing to sit on the ground if it meant he didn’t have to be on his feet.

  “If that’s true, then… I’m sorry to be the one to say this but… tactically speaking, I’m not sure there’s an easy way to win this fight. We don’t have numbers, we don’t have supplies.” Caleb closed his eyes for a moment. “We have food, which is thankfully mostly inside the walls, so if we were to come under siege we could hold out a long time, probably. But not forever. And, if you don’t mind my assessment, it won’t be much of a siege if it even is. Our best bet if it came down to that would be an all-out fight that we throw everything we can at.”

  Samuels’s face puckered like he’d swallowed a bitter pill, his already dour face growing darker. He didn’t argue, though.

  Amelie Jefferson put a hand to her forehead. Her locks swayed across her neck as she shook her head. “We can’t risk there being a fire fight here. There are eighty-seven children in Springfield. Most of them are already traumatized. If we must weather an assault… the ones that aren’t killed by stray bullets or whatever else Apex or the military bring to bear will never recover. We can’t subject them to that.”

  “So, what do you suggest?” Samuels demanded. “We just roll over?”

  The woman’s jaw muscles quivered, and she looked down at the table, radiating cold, helpless fury.

  Caleb’s stomach sank. President Daniels was the closest thing to a military leader at the table, and that only by virtue of having been Commander-in-Chief for a few years. Samuels was the next closest, but Colorado Springs wasn’t exactly the sort of place that utilized an over-militarized police force. The other three at the table were about as far from it as it was possible to be.

  There was no way a committee like this was going to be able to organize a defense against Apex or the US Military. Or, God forbid, both, which sounded like a real possibility. Which meant that, realistically, the situation was hopeless.

  If there was any reassurance to be had, it was in Apex’s files on the laptop. Trusk had identified Springfield as one of very, very few locales where it was possible to mass produce food. Welcher had to know that as well.

  That made Springfield invaluable, and a high-priority target—but it also meant that Welcher wasn’t likely to drop a bomb, and that any planned assault would have to consider that value. No one was going to come in and raze the place; it would defeat the purpose of taking it.

  That, at least, limited the number of possible plans either entity, or both, might have for how to take the town. It also gave the people of Springfield at least some leverage, though it made him almost sick to his stomach to bring it up here.

  He took a few steps forward and braced himself with the fingers of both hands on the edge of the table. “There’s… one possibility. But it’s an extreme one. I don’t think there are any good options that aren’t.”

  Four voices quieted, and five sets of eyes turned their attention on him expectantly.

  Caleb forced some steel into his posture. “Right now, Springfield represents the most valuable target in the region. Maybe in the United States or… whatever’s left of it, anyway. But it’s only valuable, only useful… if the gardens and livestock are intact.”

  Amelie, Thurmond, and Herndon all looked puzzled. Samuels finally showed an emotion beyond simmering irritation, his scowl melting to regret as he closed his eyes tight and shook his head. He knew, probably, what Caleb meant to say next. If President Daniels did, he didn’t show it overtly, but he watched Caleb with worried eyes.

  “What do you mean, ‘intact’?” Amelie asked. “We know why they want this place, but we can’t feed the whole country. And there must be places on the west coast that are still viable. California alone produces almost as much as the entire Midwest combined ever did. Everything that isn’t corn.”

  “True,” Caleb agreed, “but there’s no telling what effect the aftermath of the impact had on the pacific coast. Long term, though, think about it. Springfield doesn’t just grow food. Short term, yes. But it also preserves the ability to start farming again.”

  He motioned in the direction of the crops. “As long as there are plants here, seeds, uncontaminated strains, healthy livestock—as long as there’s a foothold, it can always get bigger. The climate settles down, land becomes arable again, Springfield and any other places like it become the… well, the seed from which all future food production can grow.”

  The five of them bowed their heads as they processed what that meant. Or, at least, Caleb hoped they did. He continued with the hard part. “One option,” he said carefully, “is to hold that future hostage.”

  “Hostage,” Doctor Herndon echoed quietly. “You mean… threaten to destroy the food supply?”

  Caleb straightened from the table. “It would be a gamble. But… yes. We rig the crops with explosives—very carefully, of course—and… find a way to do something similar with the livestock. Welcher needs Springfield to feed the military. Trusk needs it to… I don’t know, keep these Apex hubs fed, maybe, or at least to cultivate more food production facilities elsewhere. Even if he had a significant seed bank set aside, it would take almost a full year to get anything growing at the rate Springfield currently enjoys, and without livestock to breed and transport, there simply won’t be any meat.

  “We can’t beat this kind of threat with guerrilla warfare tactics alone. Not in a locale this size, and not when Apex and the military both have comparatively endless personnel to throw at us. Springfield is big, but it’s not a jungle, or even a city. We can’t square off against them directly for long.

  “Even if we worked for seventy-two hours straight, we’d never manage to set up enough traps around the town to fend off a full-scale invasion, and even if we could, it would be too dangerous to the people here who go out and scavenge. We’d be locking ourselves in. That’s it. That’s our list of bad options. And the only other option left after all of that is threatening to destroy the thing they need.”

  “So, what,” Samuels asked, spreading his hands before letting them drop to his lap, his brow furrowed. “We tell them to back off or we pull the trigger? Then what? We’re in a stand-off that never ends. And we gotta have someone on that trigger twenty-four-seven. Not to mention, if they call that bluff, we’d be committing mass suicide. Worse—murder. Cause not everyone in this place is gonna agree to something like that, and if they’re not on board we’re gonna have problems inside as much as out.”

  Valid points, all of which Caleb already considered. The committee was paying attention, at least. Not that he had a strong desire to act as Springfield’s military leader—especially given that there wasn’t anything close to a ‘military’ in the town—but someone needed to provide tactics and a long-term plan.

  “Honestly, I don’t know that we can negotiate out of the gate,” Caleb admitted. “There’s going to be a fight first no matter how we cut it. But if we can hit them hard and survive the first wave, they’ll have to listen. We have food, they need it. We control that supply, and we figure out how we can continue to feed the people here while providing what we can to Welcher. And possibly Trusk, if there’s no other way around it.”

  He glanced at each committee member in turn. “As for people here, inside Springfield? That’s probably a decision the five of you should discuss. Either make it unilaterally and explain why it’s necessary or hold a vote. Let it be a democratic process. Let residents know what’s at stake, what could happen if either the government or Apex take control of this place.”

  “And what do you think will happen if Apex takes over?” Doctor Herndon asked. She glanced around the table. “Do we really know? Trusk isn’t someone I ever followed closely, but he’s innovated in green technology, medicine, communications, even food production. For all we know, inviting Apex in could mean greater security for everyone here.

  “As it is, I can barely keep up with our population. Apex may have access to more healthcare personnel, and we could use that pretty badly; not to mention more stable energy production. We’re running this place on gas generators that are going to run out of fuel soon, and solar panels that need constant upkeep. If even a few of them fail, we’ll be at a critical energy deficit.”

  She focused on Caleb. “We don’t have anything to burn for heat when the real winter comes, and if recent weeks are any indication, it’s going to be deadly cold. Do we really want to risk putting ourselves in a position like that?”

  “That would be a negotiating point,” Caleb offered. “We trade food, and eventually the ability to grow more, for things like medicine, more solar panels, fuel. If it’s true that Apex has access to those things, or that the Government has stockpiles and resources like that, then they can trade them for what they need.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “And when it gets cold, and they withhold those things? When they want to renegotiate, and we have people dying of exposure? What then?”

  “It… is a risk,” he agreed, looking around the table. “And all of that should be information the people here have on hand if they’re going to vote. Or things that you should all consider when you vote on it. But I’ve seen some of what Apex has in store.

  “It may seem seductively secure. I’m sure teams of people dream up the right kind of messaging and propaganda to make it impossible not to consider. But the kind of society Trusk wants to create… I don’t think any of you want that. Not for yourselves, your people, your children or grandchildren. If we let it take root now, when this country is so vulnerable, so ripe to be reshaped, we’re never getting it back. Any kind of freedom we used to enjoy is going to evaporate.”

  He looked around the table, and when no one seemed keen to interrupt, he went on, ignoring the cautious part of his mind that started to wonder if resisting Apex was really the right decision. If anything, though, that worry was just further proof of the reason they had to. Apex did offer security, and more. But at a cost that was too high to pay, and to impose on future generations who would grow up not knowing anything different.

  “None of us wants our children and grandchildren to grow up in a country where their every move is tracked and analyzed from birth,” he said quietly. “Where some… some software decides every step of their lives. Puts them into categories and boxes and promises them they’ll be happy in it, and maybe punishes them if they aren’t, or if they resist being in any box at all.

  “I’ll be the first to admit that some kind of wild-west, consequence-free society of total anarchy isn’t the better alternative. But as long as Apex doesn’t have total control there will always be a chance for us—all of us who survived the impact, and everything that’s come since and will probably keep coming at us—to rebuild something. Maybe something similar to what we had before, maybe something better.

  “There were plenty of things to improve on. But at least we’ll have the chance to do that. We give in to Apex and that chance is gone.”

  For several long minutes, no one said anything. All the faces of Springfield’s leaders seemed pensive, each lost in their own worries or hopes, or simply paralyzed in the face of such an overwhelming situation. Caleb could only wait on their response, and the information he needed to make his own decision.

  If they were willing to fight for this place, even if it meant standing up to two insurmountable forces, then he and his family would have to decide if they were going to stay. He couldn’t ask Elizabeth and Lana, or even Derek, to stand their ground here after everything they’d already been through. He suspected they would, but they deserved to be asked.

  If Springfield collectively decided to simply roll over for Apex, though…

  Long term, there might have been no escaping Apex’s influence and control. Not at the rate it was expanding and the resources at Trusk’s disposal and the masses of people apparently opting in. But they could run a long time, find some other Springfield, or just hunt down a spot similarly spared the devastation that so much of the rest of the country had suffered.

  Canada would be cold, but the mountains might have offered some shelter. Mexico could be much warmer, even if the average temperature was down. There were options. Springfield was a nice break, and a potential home—but it wasn’t the only way they could go.

  Caleb felt eyes on him, and turned to President Daniels, who regarded him now with calm, keen interest. He was the first one to speak up and break the silence. “My recommendation is that we put it to a vote. Let the people decide. If our intention is to recapture and maintain our democracy, it’s the only real option we have.”

  By and by, the others agreed.

  Amelie gave a solemn nod. “I’ll get the word out, then. We can arrange a town square this evening.”

  Thurmond sighed quietly, rubbing his beard as he frowned. “And if they vote to let Apex come in and take over?”

  “Then the next conversation,” Caleb said, “will be who wants to stay and who wants to go. My family and I already know what we’ll do. Everyone else will have to decide for themselves.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Springfield, CO

  Monday July 30th, 4:00 pm MST

  Pete Camby smoothed the president’s jacket as they stood just inside the Springfield Public Library, the makeshift Town Hall after the main city building was converted to a hospital. More, now than ever, he had a hard time thinking of Thomas Daniels as anything other than the president. “Back on the trail, I guess?”

  Daniels snorted softly, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t go that far. I think after this I might be done with politics, Pete.”

  It was a little like a fish saying he’d decided to give up swimming for good. Pete raised an eyebrow and leaned to peer out the window into the library’s small parking lot, currently the closest thing to a town square that could be managed. Two tables were set up with boxes and squares of rough-cut paper meant to serve as ballots. “We’ll see.” He tugged the president’s tie into shape as a final check. “Personally, I don’t think you can stay out of it for good, if you’ll pardon me, sir—Tom.”

  That earned him a wry smile. “Is that a challenge?”

  Pete stepped back, looking Daniels over with no small amount of pride. He folded his arms and wished he had a clipboard or something to hold. He used to thumb the clip or twist the pen to occupy his hands when they were on the campaign trail. And he could only futz with the president’s outfit so much before it was weird.

  “What would you even do? Or me, for that matter. I was on your third Senate campaign, fresh out of college, and I’ve been with you since then. This is the only life I know, Tom. And I’m pretty sure it’s the only life you know.”

  “Fair point,” Daniels agreed. He tilted his head and listened briefly as Amelie Jefferson called the crowd to order outside.

  He looked at peace. Not eager, perhaps, or as pumped as he often had while stumping—but full of calm, unassuming confidence. Maybe a break from office was all he’d needed. That, or a cause that was right in front of him, at hand and tangible. Not the sort of thing he ever got stuck in Cheyenne, far away from the ‘fight on the ground’.

  Or, Pete thought, maybe he was just shut down, still. Shutting down again, anyway, in the face of sudden responsibility. His eyebrows pinched and peaked at the thought.