Finding New Purpose

The man stepped off the dock, shifting the weight of his duffel higher across his back as he made his way through the crowds and the smoke. Both weighed heavily in the air he was forced to breathe in - the unpleasant mix of unwashed bodies and smoke from multiple lit fires and torches that were there to bring light rather than warmth.

He wasted no time moving westward and within the hour his long legs had taken him beyond the town where the air felt lighter and breathed easier. Though the skies were still dark. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the sun. Rumors were going around that the ash was clearing from the atmosphere up North in the area that used to be Canada.

He was a man with a plan … sort of. After years of fighting a war he believed in, followed by years of simply fighting to survive a war he no longer understood, he was back on home soil for the first time in more than a decade. Even though that was a good amount of time, the difference in the country he had left and the one he returned to was beyond comprehension.

The whole world had been changed by the war and the massive volcanic explosion that had occured as the war was fizzling out of steam. It was almost as if Mother Nature had decided that enough was enough and she pulled the plug on the remaining will of mankind to commit to mutual destruction. The result: millions were dead, modern technology was made useless, power grids destroyed globally and the earth’s weather no longer seemed to have a discernable pattern.

But back to the plan, he had left behind a home and a family located approximately 1,100 miles due West of his current location. He didn’t know if the house was still there. He didn’t know if his family still lived. But he held firmly to the hope that they had survived and he could find them again.

The last communications he’d received from his wife, she had written that she and their daughter were doing well and making the best of things at home without him there. They were counting the days when he’d be back. She had even joked about the ever-growing honey-do-list she was compiling for his return.

Of course, that had been ten years ago and had come by postal service of all things. The postal service had been teetering on the edge of obsolescence prior to the war, but had become absolutely essential after the very first use of the advanced EMP weaponry.

Weapons that were developed to be more “humane” and cut down on casualties while crippling an enemy. But the unintended consequences had been devastating to human life. And it would be decades before the human race would catch back up to the technological advances achieved by 2040.

He had 1,100 miles to travel and no real way of knowing what, if anything, might be waiting for him at the end of his journey. But this trip would have to be made in stages and his first destination was just North of Winston-Salem, a few hundred miles away.

He had a close friend who had sent word back to him that he’d be welcome to come join the small community there. They were looking for people with knowledge and skills that could be put to use in their rebuilding efforts and the man knew he had the experience they needed.

It took him just under a week to make the trip. There were many miles of walking, a few miles on a donkey cart, two miles on a bicycle-drawn rickshaw because the man had helped repair the axle, and an amazing 45 miles on the back of a ‘57 Chevy flatbed which he had spent a half-day helping to get in working order.

He knew he had arrived when he saw a few houses and a barn lit against the ever-present dusk and heard the happy buzz of an active community. Saws, hammers, shouts, the occasional bark of laughter and … was that music escaping through the many gaps in the barn?

“Hello! And who might you be?” asked one of the men who noticed him approaching.

The question was posed with an authority that expected a response and conveyed the feeling that the questioner’s next move could be friendly - or not so friendly - depending on how he judged the response.

“My name’s…” the man started to reply when he was interrupted by a loud shout from just beyond the firelight.

“Why, that there is Nathan Withers!” exclaimed a large mocha-skinned man stepping forward with his arms open wide and a huge grin on his face!

“Nate, brother, it’s great to see you!”

As the two men approached each other they shook hands and pulled each other into a strong embrace.

“It’s great to see you too, Manny! I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever get here!”

Manny introduced Nate to the others gathered nearby and then the two men broke away to spend a few minutes catching up.

They had served honorably together in the war. And when they could no longer find any honor left in the war, together they had found a way to leave the fight behind and honorably served in the efforts to protect and build and restore as they made their way across continents to get back home. They had saved each other’s lives more than once and the trust between them was an unbreakable bond.

Manny showed Nate around the small community. Some houses had survived the war mostly intact and were being lived in with the comfort of running water and enough electricity to power lights and small appliances like refrigerators and stoves. Other houses were being rebuilt or repaired as needed.

The old barn was centrally located. It had seen better days even before the war and hadn’t improved with the ensuing chaos, but the basic structure was still standing and it was being patched back together. A mismatch of wood boards, sheets of tin and a half a wall of concrete blocks came together to form the large structure.

As interesting as it was on the outside, the inside was even more of a marvel.

A small hydroponic farm under grow lights had been pieced together and an array of vegetables and berries were being grown, even a few fruit trees were making a valiant effort to stand tall and grow strong despite all they had been through.

“That’s Amber,” Manny said, pointing to a tall woman with long hair tied back in a scarf who was peering intensely at the root system of a strawberry plant. “She ran a huge hydro-farm before the war, mostly by herself with robotics and automated systems. Unfortunately, it will take a long time to get that sophisticated again, but she was able to get this system up and running a few months ago and we’re already getting some great results. Sure beats those MREs, man!”

The men laughed and reminisced about some of the more dubious culinary experiences they had shared over the years.

Nate took notice of the enticing aroma that had started to drift in from the grills and smokers that were being used just outside to prepare the main meal for later in the day. His stomach gave a rumble and he tried to remember the last time he had eaten anything cooked from real ingredients.

But he didn’t have long to consider, because Manny was motioning him over to the opposite side of the spacious barn.

“And this is where you come in,” Manny said as he swept his arm in the direction of an array of vehicles, tractors, lawn mowers and an assortment of small engine machinery. The collection spanned more than a hundred years worth of various stages of machine development.

“Wow!” Nathan exclaimed. “Where did all that come from?”

“This collection right here is on permanent loan from the North Carolina Museum of Agriculture!” Manny said proudly. Then added sardonically, “we didn’t think they’d mind.”

“Your mission,” Manny said conspiratorially, “should you choose to accept it, of course, is to use your magic touch and bring some life back into these old machines. I figure with all those years you spent tinkering on antique cars at your old man’s shop, you’ll be just the right guy for the job!”

And Nathan was the right man for the job. He’d spent a lifetime working on engines and machines that were behind the current times and relied simply on mechanical functions to run - not a lot of electrical components and definitely no computer chips. He’d taken a lot of grief for his “obsession with obsolete junk” over the years, but it turned out those skills weren’t so laughable after all.

This wasn’t home. But it was a place where he could spend some time, get his hands and his mind busy with work that needed doing and maybe just do some good for himself and for others!

It would take a lot of time and a lot of planning to complete the long journey back to Missouri. He would spend his time here making preparations. And the first thing he would do would be to send word to his family that he was safe and that he was trying to get home, to get back to them.

He thought of that postcard he had sent them all those years ago. Dashed off in the excitement of the moment, all he had written was “I’m coming home!” How foolish he had been. How naive. How completely wrong.

As happened so often throughout the day, he fingered the chain around his neck and found the small gold key that hung from it. And he thought of his wife and his daughter and he hoped they were alive and he hoped they were learning to make a new life in this strange new world. And mostly, he hoped and prayed that he would see them again soon.