Martha hadn’t been forthright about their father, Ryland’s death or even the gold. In fact, the only good thing that had come from the mass exodus of residents to FEMA camps was that it had opened up room inside Eureka, and he and Alicia had opted to stay there instead of at the farm. That alone had pissed her off. But living in Eureka meant he didn’t need to see or hear her. The city was too vast, and with so much that needed to be done on a daily basis, it was easy to go weeks without seeing anyone.
Of course his mother had sent Jessie to invite him and Alicia for supper but they never went. It wasn’t that he couldn’t forgive her. He could. In some ways he had. But her controlling ways still shone through, and within weeks of the militia being killed, she was trying to supervise and get them to take a dig at the Stricklands.
He hadn’t seen them. The Stricklands, that is. They’d kept a low profile — avoided the city even though there was now a new sheriff, a new way of doing things. Not even Nina knew where they were. But that was a whole other story.
A lot had changed since the confrontation with militia.
Residents had rolled into place stalled vehicles and erected wooden and chain-link fencing to the south of Fort Humboldt State Park and east of Sequoia Zoo. The perimeter of Eureka was east of Harrison Avenue and ran south to Hemlock Street. It then cut west, and went south to encompass Lundbar Hills and Herrick Avenue.
It was something to behold to see a thousand working together to erect fencing. They didn’t need convincing. It was being done for their safety.
The danger wasn’t just desperate refugees seeking shelter and food, but roaming gangs, opportunists, those looking to steal. There was also the threat from folks who got their kicks and jollies by killing and raping. They were out there. Prowling like wolves. It was sad to think that life had been reduced to that, but humans were capable of all manner of heinous acts and with the power down, a lack of law enforcement and no one to stop them, it had only made it easier for the scum of society to live out their darkest fantasies.
Sure, outsiders could scale fences. It wasn’t a sure thing but it was a deterrent. A first line of defense. The hope was it might make some think twice before entering the community.
There were now only two entry points barring the bay to the west which was protected around the clock. They had also recently erected guard towers in the four corners of the city to ensure they could see trouble coming before it arrived. Those manning them were given flare guns to alert the town. So far it had worked. From outside, the new setup made it look like a prison. Still, the people believed that Johnson’s manner of steering the community was better than Dan Wilder’s. He had shot from the hip, making decisions without taking into consideration those it would affect.
The community had dwindled from several thousand to a thousand. Most of them were locals, though some came from different counties — areas that had suffered far worse than theirs.
With so many seeking help from FEMA, it meant that the resources they once had in the way of expertise like nurses, doctors and military were even fewer. That’s why some were open to bringing survivors into the fold. Engineers, medics, anyone previously trained in military or law enforcement were given priority.
To avoid another situation like what had occurred with California Militia, they had divided Eureka into five wards. Each one was assigned to a different council member with Johnson presiding over them all until a new mayor could be appointed.
Ward one was located in Lundbar Hills and was to be used for newcomers. It was south of the town center, away from the armory, supplies and the bulk of residents.
Dan Wilder had initially offered to oversee it as that’s where he lived but his offer was shot down by the city council. People still didn’t trust him. They felt that if he couldn’t discern trouble when it was right in front of him, how could he distinguish those who had come to the city with an agenda?
So, Jessie and Nina had stepped up to the plate and moved into a townhouse to assist one of the council members. They along with fifty residents would watch over the neighborhood and assess newcomers and be accountable to the council member in charge of that ward. So far it had worked. It had given Jessie a new sense of purpose and their mother another reason to complain. She didn’t want him down there. It was too dangerous, she’d said.
But that wasn’t the truth. It was the principle. How could Jessie do it after they’d put him in prison? He said she was short-sighted and didn’t realize that he wanted a life of his own, away from her drama, away from his past, like Colby.
Still, that didn’t convince her.
Ward one was unique in that it was a holding area, a place where they could observe newcomers over a two-week period and determine if they fit in or not. New arrivals weren’t told the timeline, only that they were being monitored. Some opted to leave instead of becoming a fish in a fishbowl and that was fine. It was better to have those who wanted to be there than those whose motivations were questionable.
Ward two was where 50 percent of the community lived, those with leadership skills, those trained in weapons. These folks lived in homes northeast of H Street. It was mostly cops and
