February 1, 2028 (?) - Cedar Key, Florida
I'm not sure what the date is, though I've tried to keep track of it. Keeping track of time used to be someone else's problem. Now, we must do the hard work ourselves by watching the sun, moon, and stars. At least we already know how long a year is, and that the seasons will come and go. The telescopes we scavenged from Chiefland Astronomy Village also help our lookouts see people coming from far away, at least during the day. A few have made their way into the hands of the fishermen here in Cedar Key. Following the whales is a good way to find fish. The other day, a messenger arrived. He greeted me on behalf of his master, Lord Humungous, who requested an audience with me back at Manatee Springs. I sensed danger, and gathered some of my whaling and shark hunter comrades to accompany me. They would be better off here gathering food for our tribe, and it pains me to pry them from their vital work.
We rode bikes the 30 or so miles to Manatee Springs. The terrain is mostly flat, and roads are still good, so it was easy going. When we reached the spring, I noticed a large new lodge had been built close to the abandoned snack bar I'd lived in. Outside it was the shrine of the gator skull. The artistry of the totem was tasteful and impressive. Anyone who saw it would recognize that it was a holy place. I bid my retainers to wait outside with their weapons at the ready as I saw armed guards milling about the lodge as we approached. If Lord Humungous had merely wished to talk with me, he could have sent a letter, or come to Cedar Key himself. Instead, he summoned me in order to put himself over me. Such games are tiresome and inevitable. All well and good, the whole village saw me arrive with my armed entourage. Word will spread that I did not take this insult lightly.
I entered the lodge without knocking. A man of my rank has certain privileges. Lord Humungous was seated on a throne of sorts. He spat out his drink when he saw me. I asked him to state his business. He rose from his throne, put his hand on my shoulder, smiled, and asked how I was. I said I'm getting by and pushed off his hand. He sighed returned to this throne. He said that we two are tribe's leaders and need to help each other. He explained that in the Before Time, he was a fireman. He was respected then, and he is respected now. The future of the tribe concerns him. In this brave new world, he said, strength and courage are the most important things. The Christians, the non-religious, and the nature-worshipping pagans lack the proper warrior spirit. He picked up the plastic Viking helmet I'd left behind, and said this is the symbol of the true path, for clashing of the swords is the song of the proud, and the path of fighting is the path of life.
Almost as a reflex, I touched the wooden cross on my necklace. Blessed are the peacemakers, I said. He asked why I wear the cross if I don't really believe. I said that for me, the cross is a symbol that people can be good if they try. Man is often wolf to man, but it doesn't have to be that way, I said. I've already showed me and my men are better hunters than you, I added, and anyway, outsmarting animals is easy. People got to the top of the food chain back in the Stone Age. He asked what I want. I said that the main thing I want is a simple, peaceful life. He asked what I believe. I said we belong to the earth, and to it we must return. We should enjoy life and take only what we need from nature. Look at how our civilization with all its technology was smashed by the unthinking forces of nature. We built our house upon the sand, and the storm washed it away. We should build our next house on a rock, as the good book says.
He asked what rock is that. My short answer was tradition and experience. Warrior spirit, whatever that means, is useless if none of our tribe's kids survive past the age of five. He proposed a deal: that he stay on as the tribe's chief and I be the official shaman, his righthand man. I said that is acceptable, though I'll disagree with you here and there. He added that all that matters is that I do not contradict him in public. He took a puff from a pipe and offered it to me. The smoke had a skunky smell and a pleasing effect. He offered a handshake, and I joined it. With that, our rivalry ended, at least for the time being. I left the lodge and retrieved my plastic Viking helmet and bamboo staff from the snack bar. Yes, there will be more battles to fight, but the most important battle is the struggle of hope against despair. As I see it, my new job is to get people to do the right thing, even if it's for the wrong reason. After all, that's all religion ever has been.
To my surprise and relief, Lord Humungous and his men produced a feast of fish, beef, goat, cheese, and potatoes, along with much homemade wine. We made merry under a cloudless, starlit sky. Later, Lord Humungous handed me a small notebook and said I should study it carefully. As I was immediately intrigued, I retired to the snack bar to read it by candlelight. It turned out that in my absence, Lord Humungous had sent scouts along all the main roads and explored a distance of about 100 miles to the north, south, and east. Their most interesting find was a small colony of heavily-armed survivalists near Palatka. My new mission was to make contact with them and persuade them to join our tribe, as their weapons and ammo would greatly strengthen us. The next morning, I gathered a crew and set out.
March 1, 2028 - Palatka, Florida
We passed through Gainesville on the way to Palatka. The city showed more signs of life than when I first passed through. The many lakes around provide ample fresh water as well as fish, turtles, snakes, frogs, gators, and other edible creatures. Father Michael passed on, and his chosen successor has remade the city into a kind of an ecumenical Christian commune called Zion. They even rigged up bicycles to power electric generators, enabling a few hours of electricity when they are needed the most. Bud is now the second in command, and many shepherds guard his greatly expanded herd of sheep. We stopped here and there to rest and buy food, which was abundant. The main thing we were interest in, however, was any information about the survivalist compound we were headed for in Palatka. What we got was vague, contradictory, and unsettling. The best we could piece together was that the group was relatively small, heavily armed, and inclined toward militant white nationalism and the Lost Cause myth [a belief about the heroism of the losing side of a war to preserve slavery].
Nonetheless, we pressed on, and soon found ourselves on the outskirts of Palatka. The warning signs we passed were increasingly dire, and included skulls and shot up cars. Soon enough, the sound of a pump action shotgun being racked stopped us dead in our tracks. The lookout emerged from his hiding place with his weapon aimed straight at me. I put up my hands to show I was unarmed and posed to threat. Who the hell are you, he asked. I explained that we had come from afar to invite you to join our tribe, as we have plentiful food and water, as well as safety in numbers. I walked toward another member of our entourage a removed an arrow from his quiver. One or a few are weak, I said as I snapped it in half. I grabbed a handful of arrows and struggle to bend them, and said but many together are strong. Please, add your strength to ours, I said. The guard lowered his gun as if to think for a moment. He told us to wait where we were.
After some time, the guard returned with an older man, bedecked in a bandolier and holding a belt-fed machine gun. He introduced himself as Majestic Cyclops Buford Lee of the Latter-Day Ku Klux Klan. Well, at least he has self-esteem, I thought. I asked him to tell us about his struggle and the struggle of his people. We were led into an underground bunker hidden in thick brush. There was a room that was sort of like a miniature movie theater. We took seats and Lee turned off the lights to show us a film. I was surprised at the improvised device given the scarcity of electricity and the difficulty of rigging the whole setup. The film explained, in graphic detail and with real footage, the race war that had happened in this part of Florida. A small group of whites had banded together and fought off attacks from every direction, and eventually succeeded in driving their enemies from the area. Their goal was the establishment of a white ethno-state and the extermination or subjugation of anyone who got in their way.
It was the sort of situation that called for the utmost discretion in diplomacy. I began by inquiring about their arsenal and gunsmiths. They explained that their victory was due to their super firepower which included gear for reloading spent brass. That was something new and valuable. If we could reload spent brass, our combat power would increase many times. I asked how well they had been eating. They said they had an ample supply of MREs [meals ready to eat, military rations from the Before Time], but those were running low. They asked about our situation, and I described our farms, fishermen, and so on. As a cherry on top, I added that our village was about 90% white, and we had fought a successful war against an invasion by El Jefe. That really piqued his interest, especially the part where I told the story of how I personally killed the warlord and preserved his skull.
Come with us, I told him, and see the skull for yourself. You and your people will be among friends for a change. Your skills will be appreciated, you will eat well, and you will be safe. What's more, together we will fight more battles, and we will win them thanks to the help of you and your people. At this, Lee's expression softened, and he offered a handshake. As I gripped his hand, I thought we had just made a new and dangerous ally. We knew the road was safe to travel, so Lee gathered his people, and we hit the road for the journey back to Manatee Springs. In my mind, I pondered how the newcomers would be received. Politics is all a matter of herding cats. If our tribe accepted slavery without much of a fuss, the arrival of these militant racists wouldn't cause much of a stir either. As a boy, much of the entertainment I saw portrayed the mixture of races as not just good, but inevitable, in spite of all the history to the contrary.
My greatest fear was that Lee and his followers would insist on embarking on an unnecessary war. Still, we badly needed their weapons and ammo. I felt as though we had just made a deal with the devil. Time would tell whether we had made the right decision. Perhaps I could unify the tribe, including Lee and his followers, around a new heroic myth. I thought of the Apollo program that culminated in sending astronauts to the moon. Cape Canaveral was a long, hard journey, but the buildings there would prove that our former country had done great things in the name of scientific inquiry. It seemed to me that many Americans had worshipped technology while others worshipped nature. Perhaps there was a way to combine these ideas.
