The Crest

It’s smoky on the crest, the haze is acidic, dark, and coniferous. The miasma doesn’t go away, it lingers, permeates, and overwhelms the senses. On some mornings, a freezing mist shrouds everything, creating black ice up and down the battlement.

Putting non-warriors into the line of fire was not a new thing, in fact, kingdoms have been placing untrained peasants on the front lines for centuries. Kings sent farmers to defend the realm with pitchforks. Up on the Crest, it was not that different, M-4s replaced the pitchforks of old. Mind-altering drugs on the frontline...well that was nothing new either.

And out there in the great beyond, the Antisis chased the last of the raccoons, foxes, squirrels, and rabbits; those creatures trembled in the gray light.

The pod members stood at their morning briefing, waiting to hike up the battlement.

“Don’t shoot the planties today or any other day. Supposed to be a bunch of ’em coming in,” the Crefor Staff Sergeant Wild Bill Johnson spoke to the group.

“What’s an empath, anyway?” Emilio asked.

“Basically, people able to connect with the plant world; they sense something like a vibe or a bond. Plant lovers.”

The protectors laughed, but the Sergeant shut them down.

“What the hell do you think we’re doing here on the Crest? The planties have more guts then the rest of you pantywaists combined. And, they play a key role in our mission here.”

“Yes, sir,” they said in unison.

“Do you believe this shit?” Emilio whispered to Agathe.

“Shhh,” she said, irritated.

“How are we supposed to distinguish them from the enemy? They always arrive at a different place,” someone asked.

“They’re holding small flags and besides, they usually come in small groups, unarmed,” the Sergeant said.

“We could get over-run by the Antisis waiting in ambush,” another one said.

“Follow the procedure. Post extra troops during a gate opening. Follow your training.”

Wild Bill switched topics. “At this time, I’d like to talk more about the enemy. You should all be aware of your nemesis by now. The Antisis are anarcho-primitivists, not to be taken lightly. When they arrive, you will be in for the fight of your lives but remember, you are the good guys and…incidentally you’ll be fighting for one of the last research stations in the civilized world, so don’t fuck up.”

“Jesus, what a killjoy,” Emilio muttered

Agathe turned to Emilio, clearly irritated.

“The Antisis fight for a return to non-civilized ways of life through deindustrialization, and the removal of government and technology, that is to destroy FORC. They don’t want factories producing their food, clothing, or shelter. But we will fight them at costs. You will lay down your lives for our mission. This is why you are here. Above all, don’t fall for their bullshit propaganda.” Wild Bill ended the meeting, and an announcement came over the loudspeaker.

“This is your morning nursery report from FORC. Today, we have a high wind warning. LAL, lightning activity level, 8. Fire danger is extreme. Air quality extreme. Photosynthetic rate average across FORC is 5.25 micromoles per meter squared per second. Fair.”

The quadrant 28 members hiked up to their assigned part of the Crest and began their patrol. After an hour, Keegan and Margot met in the flanking tower. They huddled by the fireplace.

“It’s 8:00,” Margot said. “Turn on the radio, my show is on.”

Keegan flipped on the switch and the small AM radio buzzed to life and after a few more seconds, a charismatic broadcaster began his morning program.

“Helloooo to you rockin’, roamin, enclavers out there and welcome toooooo Radio Free Oregon. We recognize all those courageous defenders up there on that god-forsaken Crest and we thank you for your service. This is your one and only migrant radio station, we are theeeee…Radio Free Oregon. Whether you’re an empath, enclaver, eco-refugee, Old Portland City hippie or just plain down on your luck, we are here for you brothers and sisters.

I even have a word for our Antisis brothers. Dudes of the wasteland, survivalists of the sage, bad asses of the badlands, I beg you to lay down your weapons and join the good times here in the enclave. Today is your day. Now is your time. Join the rest of the free world here in the Greater Portland Enclave, and by the way, where the party never ends.

For the rest of our listening audience, wherever you are, and whoever you are, we are here for you, delivering 60,000 lovely watts from out here in theeee enclave. Today is Friday and our tree science hour. Give us your questions and we will answer them. Want to know what’s going on at FORC, we’ve got our very own Executive Director of FORC, Danielle Fournier, to answer your questions. Let’s start with the first caller.”

“I’ve heard that you practice the dark arts in FORC, is that true?”

Danielle winced. She got this question often. “No, we’re scientists, not magicians. Our lives are often tedious and boring. Science is a process of testable justifications and predictions about the universe. I invite the inquirer to FORC to see what we do. Scientists stay away from politics, but opponents of science capitalize on the uncertainty of a topic to undermine us. We scientists are clear about what we know and don’t know, and we debate with each other all the time.”

Caller two, “Is it true that the seedlings are sucking in more carbon?”

“That is correct, our seedlings are sequestering carbon at three times the rate of normal trees. This is an unprecedented rate and good for the planet.”

“Caller three on the line,” the DJ said.

“Is it true that the trees at FORC are speaking tongues to humans?”

“Yes, the plants are communicating through an audible clicking sound, a kind of unknown tongue. Of course, we don’t know what the click means but I will say that this is new for us since plants often send out infrasonic or ultrasonic waves. When we found this audible sound coming out of the nursery, we were astounded.”

“What do you want to do with these seedlings?”

“Of course, plant them in the hills where they can green the land, begin to restore the watershed, and above all sequester carbon.”

“Are your trees, mutant demon trees that perform dark magic?”

“The only power our trees have is persistence. They are good at surviving these hot dry days that we live in. Remember we handpicked the seed from California, Nevada, and southern Oregon to survive in hot and dry conditions. Without trees, I think it is safe to say that we are all doomed.”

“Next question from the caller,” the broadcaster announced.

“Do trees have souls?”

The question caught Danielle off guard. She paused. She’d seen a lot of amazing research over the past month, enough to make her believe that the seedlings she was working with were indeed nothing less than miraculous.

“Our seedlings are special, I’ll say that. The scientists at FORC have made dramatic breakthroughs, communicating with trees. Why now? Why at this time? We don’t know, but the fact remains that we have advanced plant communication science by hundreds of years and for that reason, I am so proud of our researchers and staff.”

The questions for Danielle continued. “What if the trees die? What then?”

“That is an excellent point, eventually as the planet heats up, we will have less food, more disease, and less oxygen produced by plants. I think everyone knows we are in a race for our lives here in the Pacific Northwest.”

“What if the Antisis take over the enclave?”

“They are coming. And if they break through, they will destroy everything. The enclavers must join the battle to fight them. It falls upon all of us to defend the enclave. The Crefor can’t do it alone.”

“Time to go.” Margot turned off the radio, and they moved back to their watch.

“What the hell is an anarcho-primitivist, anyway?” Margot asked.

“People that believe that modern society is evil and want a hunter-gatherer subsistence.”

“That’s impossible after the Shift. Everyone knows that.

Have you seen what it looks like out there?” She pointed to the charred wasteland beyond the wall.

“Yea, but the Antisis believe that early humans once lived in peace and prosperity.”

“Surely you don’t believe that. They’re a bunch of thugs,” Margot argued.

“They are but it is true that in ancient societies hunter-gatherers were more egalitarian than today. They were more successful in getting along than those working in agriculture.”

“You lost me, what did agriculture do?”

“They say war did not exist until after agriculture was discovered.”

“How so?”

“Domestication, you know plants and animals. But they took it a step further, like making society orderly.”

“Gotta go, see you in an hour.”

They returned to the battlement and walked their 91 feet, peering out the crenellations with their binoculars, searching for anything unfamiliar.

Hour up, they returned to the flanking tower. “They say that agriculture requires a totalitarian relationship with humanity,” Keegan resumed the conversation.

“How so?”

“Agriculture led to oppressive forms of government. In short, humans like to subjugate each other and they used agriculture to do it. The Anarcho-primitivists believe that in a state of wildness, there is not any one group dominating another.”

“Makes sense to me. Those are the people we’re fighting out there?”

“Yep.”

On the Crest, the pod watched out for each other, if they could, but some were too far away and always blocked by the flanking tower. Keegan could spot Ben and Lenore, in most cases. Today, he could see Agathe and Emilio smoking their weed, but not Markus and Beatrice, they were too far away. He decided to see what they were up to.

I’m the pod Captain so I may as well see what they’re doing, he thought.

He walked down the battlement and saw the three of them talking. Markus, Beatrice, and Vera the coffee person. He overheard them talking about a church.

They looked at him and stopped chatting.

“How’s it going?” Keegan asked.

“All is well, on our break,” Beatrice said. “Keegan, you’re making your rounds today?”

“I needed to get out and besides I rarely see you guys.”

“I’ll see you all tomorrow,” Vera told the group. The older woman progressed about her coffee rounds on the Crest, pushing her cart.

“We’re going to the Void on our next leave. Why don’t you come? Let off some steam,” Keegan asked.

“We’ll think about it,” Markus said.

“Notice anything unusual?”

“Not much. The 50 caliber keeps jamming,” Markus noted.

“I know, for all of our sakes, we need to keep that thing running well.”

“Roger that.”

“Okay, well I’ll catch you later.” Keegan walked back to his post.