Reboot

Jack Rourke headed a survivalist group in northern Idaho. He hadn’t started out wanting to lead the group. That just happened. His friend Charlie had invited him one weekend and he’d enjoyed himself enough to come back the next.

It started as a joke: “Let’s start us an army”. They had regular meetings in the forest to shoot targets or animals and then celebrate with barbecues and beer. Very quickly, their numbers grew and they built themselves a comfortable compound where they could gather, practice basic soldiering and occasionally lather themselves into a froth of anti government angst.

Rourke didn’t take the politics seriously. He was quite aware that the US government was not going to go rogue and that citizens would never be required to “take up arms” against it. But he did enjoy the shooting and the camaraderie; the barbecues were fantastic. Most people in his group were ok, nice enough, if a bit confused. Some were right wing nuts, 2nd amendment-obsessed, but they were generally harmless.

At first, Rourke went most weekends and some evenings to take part in various training programs or soldier games. It was a stress relief for him. He had a difficult job as a high school teacher in a difficult neighborhood. He began to organize the games. His boys really liked the lifelike ones with bad guy targets to shoot down while running along an intricate lifelike obstacle course. He was smart in a dirty street way. He was outgoing and made people laugh. People recognized his talents. He rose in the ranks.

Like many such places, part of the curriculum at Camp Rourke was preparing for the end of the world. They’d discuss possible targets, outcomes, defensive strategies, stocking up, time schedules; they studied how to survive fallout and how to grow food. Jack Rourke had thought it a waste of time but it made his people happy so why not?

Turned out the doomsday loons had been right.

They were in one of the only geographically safe places to be in the US during and after a nuclear war. It was free of fallout. They could stay aboveground without fear of contamination. But they also had neighbors.

As soon as the news had turned sour, the camp went on high alert and the members of his group started showing up with their entire families, tons of food, endless amounts of ammunition and all types of useful or foolish necessities for laying low over a long period of time. Lots of beer and steaks, footballs and volleyballs, music, important books and heirlooms, furniture, TV’s and machines of all types, tools, dogs, cats and toys. There were four families per cabin, which looked like mobile homes, and enough food was stored away to last a year. They were in the middle of a forest. One road in, same road out. The fence was three meters high, made of very strong steel mesh with barbed wire on top that was leaning outwards, and it surrounded the camp, which was about 300m x 300m. There was a central area with a dais and where the flag flew. That was where meetings were held. Just next to that circle was the kitchen and dining area, and all around were the fifty cabins, which were organized like a roman camp, with mathematical precision.

The camp was completely full and its nine hundred members were ready to huddle up for the long winter. He’d chaired many meetings and discussed with everyone, made it a priority to give everyone a voice even though it was a waste of time. How many people could we take in? It was the main question on everyone’s mind. It was decided that since they didn’t know how long they’d need to stay in the camp, they couldn’t take in any more people. None. That, Rourke knew, was going to be difficult, especially when children would have to be turned away.

Rourke had had a hand in designing the later additions to the camp. He made sure the area had the necessary space for footpaths, communal cooking areas, educational facilities and recreational areas, sanitation, firebreaks, administration, water storage, distribution areas, storage and kitchen gardens.

Diary of Jack Rourke

The nightmares have been getting worse. I don’t sleep well. Who would? I see them in my dreams. Poor bastards.

Our fence is strong, but is it strong enough? They’ll come again and they’ll be better organized, or more determined. Either way, I’m not looking forward to it.

Yesterday we had to shoot five of them. Five innocent Americans just trying to survive. It worked of course, the other two hundred left, but where can they go? They’ll be back. I’d do exactly the same in their place. They’re starving, sick, they want us to take them in but we can’t. We’re maxed out. We took in a few stragglers before, but that was probably a mistake. Now we have this problem to deal with. Probably why they target our place.

Yesterday they were disorganized and we were lucky. We tried shooting over their heads, but it didn’t work.

We have to get prepared. I expect them to regroup and come again within twenty-four hours.

They’ll storm the gates and then attack all around us at different positions along the wall. That’s what I’d do. And they won’t give up. I can’t prevent it, I can’t take them in. It’s going to be a massacre. God help me.

The people under my care look to me for protection and we have no other way to protect ourselves, certainly no authorities to call, no 911 anymore. Some have asked me to find a way to help the refugees, feed them, take some in, maybe help build another camp.. But those voices are few. Most are scared and want to be safe, at any price. Besides, there really isn’t anything we can do in the short term and they simply won’t last in the long term.

There will be better times when we can get out of here and find a good place to rebuild.

The following people under my command should be carefully monitored. They enjoy killing too much.

Though I suppose there is a use for that now.