Chapter 19: Booted From Paradise Pt I

Around Two Weeks Later

It was early December and the preparatory works for the Holy Season began only one week previously. Christmas was fast approaching, and as the winds and nights got colder, there was much to do. Christmas time in my home was particularly wonderful and although something happened in the nuclear holocaust of 2077 to disturb the weather patterns I'd read about, it was especially cold and we even experienced a few days of light snowfall. The town was alive and comfortable as families and groups and trades within the walls prepared for the season by getting done with their work and going to sign up for workgroups or charity events special for the Christmas season. The smoke from chimneys poured into the air above the town all day and all night, and the work went on. Every day, and especially days my detachment was in the towers, we'd see the kids would leave school and trades would end their shifts only to fill the streets and begin happily putting up decorations all throughout town. Lights were strung up along the streetlamps, nativity scenes would show up in every community garden, the construction groups would decorate the Temple, the storefront of every shop and trade building would be strewn in lights, and all the while the soft sounds of New Canaanites caroling as they worked would come to us up in the gate towers. The market and world outside the walls were a strange contrast.

Every day, groups of refugees were coming to us and although the charity groups and Missions Coordination was working overtime, the refugee crisis was becoming more of a routine than anything. The way we've been handling it was working well enough and many New Canaanites thanked Mr. Mathers for his renovation project a couple months back while he reminded them to thank God. Because of his and his workers' job at the former ranch of our former Bishop Judah Black, we now had a completely dedicated station for managing the refugee crisis. Although the work was continuous, the missionary and charity groups and guardsmen assigned to that refugee town had their work cut out for them.

At this time, the refugee handling station truly was more like a separate town. Perhaps nearly 200 or more refugees occupied the area with several dozen tents, and missionaries were sent out all the time leading them to new homes in the wilderness only for new groups to replace them. Although the groups were mostly from the east, we still received them from all over and the Missions teams were doing their sometimes-thankless work ignited by the spirit of the Holy Season shown in the glow behind the walls as the sky got dark.

The days were slow for the most part at the start. Every few days my detachment was sent to the refugee town where we helped keep order even if it seemed like many days we weren't even needed. Perhaps the incident with Graham at the start of the crisis still resonated amongst the refugee population, perhaps it was because of the increasing cold of the season, or perhaps it was because of the refugees' quarantine from those who'd seek to exploit the charity. Either way, the work with the refugees was peaceful for the most part, and still the work went on. Although the market was free from much of the general refugee traffic, business in the markets went on fairly normally with the traders from all over the wilderness and further.

Many who came to the markets were from lands beyond the wilderness and many still were here from the surrounding wastes. While many traders enjoyed having a steady customer base with the population of New Canaan and the refugees, much of the business was done with us and their fellow tradesmen since so many of the refugees didn't have much other than the clothes on their backs. Still, the weather got colder, and due to wars in the east between the tribes and Legion, and war in the west between the White Legs and 80s, many of the traders found it best to stay put for a while in the safety of New Canaan's direct vicinity. By the start of the first week in December, all of the temporary lodging shacks in and around the market were occupied by traders and wasters, and it was shortly after this that the Guard's patrols of the market grounds began to come upon an issue we had to deal with nearly every cold season.

It turns out that those traders who decide to lodge under our protection seem to forget how "weird" they think we are and are surprised when they learn they have to play by our rules when under our protection. A lot of traders, especially those from lands beyond the wilderness, like NCR lands in the west, or settlements up north, come to us with open minds even if they aren't much willing to participate in the real reason our community is around. No matter the season, traders from outside begin to grumble when they learn they can't get a "stiff" drink or alcohol from New Canaan owned businesses in the market like the Trinity Inn. Their frustration becomes even more so when they realize our community won't tolerate prostitution either, and decide they'd keep a lid on it knowing they could get their vices satisfied to abundance after a very Short stay at New Canaan. Some come to terms with it, and sometimes even attend the little scrap-built chapel outside the walls to see if the God of Abraham and New Canaan can help them cope with the lack of what they can't get in our territory. Those traders or wasters who remain uninterested in the Lord seek to subvert our rules and then turn to their own stocks of alcohol or sometimes even drugs while they are with us. This particular is true no matter the season.

We guardsmen don't particularly mind if traders sell one another alcohol or drink their own stocks, and so long as they don't attempt to sell to New Canaanites in the market, they remain free to do as they wish while drug or chem use is strictly forbidden while in public. That isn't to say drug and chem use doesn't happen when we're looking the other way, but while drug use and distribution normally results in expulsion or confinement to a cell till the drugs are gone, the use of alcohol is dealt with in a far more lenient manner. Overall, the men of the guard typically try not to look down on those who partake in their vices provided they aren't causing too much of a disturbance because of it. In fact, I've seen a waster stumble out of his tent or rented shack with a bottle in his hands only for a guardsman to stop him and ask to pray for him many times. That's usually as far as it goes in regard to alcohol, accompanied by the guardsman gently telling them something along the lines of "You don't need that." Funnily enough, drunk people are sometimes the most interested and willing to listen to what the men in black police vests and caps with crosses on them have to say about Jesus Christ.

I only bring all that up because in the second week of December, while New Canaan was still preparing for Christmas, the men of my detachment were sent to put an end to something that culminates every season when the rented lodgings are full and the traders decide they don't want to put up with our regulations for more than a week. Usually we don't care what the wasters or ambitious businessmen from beyond the wilderness decide to sell Outside the markets, but the enterprise was a bit to close to us for comfort, and even more problematic because of the name they decided to call it. Not only this, but I think the operation I will go on to explain was something of a turning point. I believe it was after this operation and this Christmas season that formally marked the start of all the problems I've laid forth since the beginning finally accumulating enough to start showing in the new year… A sort of "Calm before the storm" if you will.

"So what's the name of this place?" asked Nathan idly, looking at the dark wastes around us.

All to our east and south was darkness while the lights of the lanterns across the market and bright Christmas lights from the town proper illuminated the world behind us. Our path, the caravan path south from the gates to our home was still faintly lit by the dim glow of lanterns and campfires along the trail as the only other source of light in this darkness was the small collection of fires and dim neon southwest off the trail on our right.

"You forget to read the signs or what?" asked Carl Northrup, adjusting the shoulder straps of his small pack, himself looking much wider than he normally was in that big padded jacket made from the scraps of probably 20 other jackets.

We all look at the sign up ahead sitting between two dim lanterns and reflecting the glow of a nearby fire keeping six wasters and refugees warm. The sign was nearly identical to every fifth sign we passed since leaving the market grounds and reading;

"Come 2 Adam and Eve's Pleasure Garden!"

And below that;

"Next right green sign!"

We ignored the group of refugee men talking loudly in their tribal dialect following us in the same direction, but we decided to turn off the path before reaching the green sign with lanterns beside it reading;

"Paradise 1 mile This way!"

"Paradise" would have been hilarious if the whole energy around this little "enterprise" wasn't so frustrating for many reasons I'll illuminate later. Reflecting on the other signs we've read since leaving the last shacks around the market and passing the refugee town said things like;

"Everything you can't find in NC found this way!"

"Cum get hi & drink" with an arrow pointing further south.

"ALL Sinners welcome at A&EPG!"

As we got closer to the destination, the group of us felt increasingly uncomfortable with every group of wasters or refugees that passed us whooping and hollering as they headed the same direction as us. We looked and felt like idiots in our patchwork garb of jackets and pants sewn together by the seamstress groups at home and scavenged from department stores probably a hundred years prior. There must have been rats in my jacket before it was pulled from the storeroom for this assignment because every part of it was frayed and stringy and bore an awful smell before the night breeze carried most of that scent away. Still, we all looked the part, and beyond looking like any other group of wasters, we were all still concealing our .45 pistols beneath our jackets. Perhaps the only thing that could give us away was the cleanliness of our faces, except for Nathan and Ramos who decided to smudge dirt on them before I said I didn't think that was necessary.

As we turned off the caravan path and stepped onto the rugged wasteland, Ramos asked the group in general,

"What was the name of that 'mobile' one they did last year around this time? I forget."

He didn't forget, and John and I said as much at the exact same time. Still, Nathan took the bait, or leapt at the opportunity, asking;

"You mean that restored camper unit getting led around by a team of brahmin?"

"That's it, what was that called again?" asked the youngest man in my detachment, knowing full well what he was doing.

Before Nathan could utter the first syllable, I told him without any humor in my voice, "You say it and you're getting put in the night guard."

The distant sounds of laughter and chatter from the groups of wasters and refugees going to and from the lighted establishment were the only thing to be heard beneath the winds and sounds of our footsteps for a long moment. Then, I contemplated once more whether or not I felt Mr. Langdon to be my second in command when he answered Mr. Ramos' question;

"The Pussy Wagon."

Mr. Langdon mouthed something to the sky, my men contained their laughter as we neared the path to the brothel of today and then Mr. Langdon considered how I would punish him later. Carl then asked simply;

"Why we gotta look like wasters if we're doing a show of force?"

"This isn't the show of force," said I. "This is the 'we'll ask you kindly once more' part of this situation."

"Oh… ok," said Carl, followed by John Langdon;

"After this we'll do the show of force. From there it's up to them to decide whether or not we move on to the 'I hope you've accepted Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior' part."

Nathan chuckled, Ramos shrunk back a few paces behind, and we stepped on the path. A gaggle of drunk wasters stumbled our way looking like black silhouettes in the glow of the fires and restored neon signs behind them. The establishment sat little less than a mile straight ahead.

Carl rubbed his hands to combat the cold and stole a glance toward New Canaan and all its' bright Christmas wonder before saying idly, "… Never came to this last year with the proprietor of the… 'Wagon'."

"And I pray it goes no further than this," said I before John asked the group;

"You boys hear what they did to Darrell from Missions Outreach yesterday?"

I nodded, remembering what I heard and why I volunteered my detachment for this. Hearing Ramos give a low "uh-huh" behind me, Carl and Nathan were in the barracks at the time, and I had Ramos bring me some files for guard interviews last night when John came to my door with the news he heard from the Constable. With Nathan and Carl ignorant, Carl asked,

"Darrell Fleischer? What happened?"

I spoke for John, "Man was sent to give New Canaan's demands. A simple 'move 8 miles south and change your name' request was met with some disagreement."

"Disagreement?..." asked John with a shake of his head, "… These scumbags did more than that. They decided to-"

He stopped himself at the look I gave him and the group of wasters was too close for us to talk although they may have been too drunk to figure out who we were regardless of what we were saying. The collection of brightly lit trailers around a wide rundown building was a bit closer now, and the group of wasters passed us whooping and hollering with colorful bits directed at us and each other like;

"Bess night a Ma Laff! Ya guys'll love it thur!", "My bich was HAHHT! Why ya always pick the uggos Clyde!?", "Screw New Canaan! We do what we want!", and "I'm tellin ya B- Bill! No booze! No chems!? Legion and Canaan's thah SAME!"

Personally, I would have laughed at the wastelander logic: "A community that doesn't permit alcohol, prostitution, and drugs = Caesar's Legion" but I was a bit too focused on the task ahead at the time. Soon enough, the wasters passed, and as we neared the establishment, the quiet in my group was only ended when Nathan muttered to nobody in particular;

"Wish Graham was here for this…" alluding to his noteworthy incident in the market a couple weeks back.

"Mmmhmm" was the response from everyone including John while I stayed silent. Not sure what to make of the statement and mutual opinion from my men, I felt myself about to ask in all honesty why he said that. However, I already knew the answer since the incident in the market was still being talked about and before I could ask it, Carl asked me;

"Hey LT, you mentioned where he's living now but what he been up to?"

I didn't really know the answer to that, although I did mention what he said over dinner that first night and how he might come to the ranks of the guard at some point in the distant future. However, before I could say anything, Nathan said what all of us have at least noticed over the past week;

"Guy's putting up Christmas lights, remember? We saw him the other day."

That was true, and it really was something else to see that burnt and wrapped man up on a ladder with the others stringing up lights around lamp posts and along the trim of buildings. There was always someone holding his ladder, and he was always with the regular population as he worked. I didn't know if he was ordered to do this or just volunteered, but it certainly was strange to know that man's past, know what he did in the market, and then to see him decorating for the holiday with the rest of the New Canaan population just before the end of our detachment's shift. At that, I thought about the days since he'd moved out of my family's home.

Whenever our detachment was assigned to one of the towers, I'd think back to Joseph's diary assignment he got back a day after turning it in, and then I'd turn to look back at the town. More often than not, whenever I did, I'd see Joshua Graham wandering the streets by his lonesome while the rest of the town was with their trades or working their shops. In those first days, I remember that of the few people who walked the streets in the midday, almost all of them would go around him. Even if there were words spoken, I was always too far to hear. Even when the trades and shops and schools would let out, the same thing would occur. The streets would fill, but still, Graham would walk, going about his strange business and looking like a rock in the middle of a stream as everyone passed around him.

Then I thought of the last time I'd seen him walk the town not more than two days ago. Sometime before we caught sight of him stringing up lights with one of the many volunteer holiday decorator groups, I remember seeing everyone he passed wave to him. Graham would wave back to every single one with his wrapped arm, even as the streets filled with the end of the day. It occurred to me how not one person would avoid him or fail to give him a wave as he passed. A stark contrast to how the populace felt about him in the immediate days after his integration into the town proper.

My thoughts were broken as another group of wasters passed us drunkenly hollering at one another and a group of tribals screamed and made wild gestures at each other in their own dialect. The establishment was closer now, and we weren't more than a hundred and fifty yards from the campfires surrounded by crowds of men beside the entryway when I spoke the order;

"Listen up boys…"

I felt their wordless acknowledgment and resumed, "… When we get inside, we find Lt. Doyle and I think Lt. Pryor. (Husband of Joseph's teacher, Mrs. Pryor) and see where they want us. Both of them, as well as their men should be there now…"

I heard a few mumbled affirmations as the group of wasters in our rear grew slightly louder, "… We're blending in, so do what you can to not draw attention to yourselves or anyone else. Engage with any women who approach you, and although I'm sure I don't need to say this, but you are Not to do anything beyond casual discourse..."

I heard Carl push Ramos off the path followed by the short remark, "Remember you're saving yourself for marriage, baby boy."

Ramos caught up, John chuckled, and Nathan asked strangely seriously for the question he had, "Are we supposed to drink to help us fit in? Thugs might get suspicious if there are so many in there asking for water or tea."

I thought about this too and went on, somewhat surprised he didn't as the question in his usual sarcasm, "I'll see what Doyle and Pryor have decided when we get there… But we're just waiting on Lt. Camden to show up and give us a sign to start the shutdown. I'll figure out what that sign is later, but remember our secondary task on any assignment like this:…"

John, Nathan, and Carl made an "Mmhmm" sound and I went on for Mr. Ramos who's never been on an assignment like this that went as far, "… If you see any of our brothers or sisters inside the premises, you are to approach them discreetly, take down their names, and order them to leave without commotion…" The boys were silent, allowing me to add, "... It doesn't happen that often, but our brothers and sisters have been discovered in places like this before so keep eyes open and look at the younger men inside especially. We're here."

At that, we were inside the glow of the two crowded fires beside the chain link fence to the premises. Ignoring the laughter and talking amongst those huddled around the flames, we also ignored the terrible fight happening somewhere off to our right just beyond the glow, and proceeded onward.

Usually, assignments like this were carried out by older or married members of the guard since the younger ones such as Ramos, Carl, and Nathan were more "susceptible" to the temptations of a brothel. However, I mentioned the guards were short-staffed, and although it wasn't hard to muster the right amount of bodies for a task like this, it was hard to acquire the particular kinds of bodies like married ones for it.

Either way, my thoughts were cut short when a bald probable caravan guard turned bouncer/thug covered in leather ammo pouches over his jacket said "Welcome to Adam and Eve's Pleasure Garden."

We nodded, I felt the urge to throw up at mention of such a name for a place like this, and it didn't help when the woman in an almost identical leather outfit laden in ammo bandoliers held a bowl out to us saying, "Need condoms? Nobody (Has sex) without one." She didn't say "Has sex"

I extended my hand to the bowl to fit in, she retracted the thing, and said "5 caps, or 5 bullets, 9 mill up." Without a word I pulled 5 .45 bullets out of my pocket, took the prophylactic, and the transaction was over in 2 seconds. Without slowing our pace, we continued onward toward the brick building all lit up.

I briefly thought that I should have brought 9mm bullets or 10mm since New Canaanites were known across the Utah wilderness to use .45 almost exclusively in our standard sidearms and submachineguns. Although the bouncer didn't seem to notice or care, and the type of weapon that shoots .45 was fairly common amongst the tribes and wasters of the wilderness.

Passing the welcome crew and stepping inside the compound, I think we all simultaneously realized why the Constable required such a large crew for this job. It was a circus. Beyond the large white crosses painted crudely on the faces of the central building and the sign "Adam & Eves Pleasure Garden" spelled out across the top with neon letters from probably 30 different signs, what really captured me was the grounds before the building. I didn't know what happened inside the building, but I assumed that was where the bar was because the place sat in the middle of an old trailer park. Seeing women leading men to different trailers under the dim lamps and campfires, I assumed the trailers were where the brothel services were engaged, but the lively theme and lights of the place wasn't what really caught my attention after stepping inside.

As we neared the building, it really shocked me at how crowded the place was. We did our best to scan the crowds for any brothers or sisters to confront and usher away, but there were far too many concealed by the darkness despite the electric signs, campfires, and restored lamp posts. Between the two long trailers flanking the entrance and the building, there must have been a half dozen camp or barrel fires each surrounded by crowds of men, many with bottles in their hands, and far more noise than we were used to. The gimmick was apparently working well for the owners. There must have been well over a hundred men just between the entrance to the compound and the building alone, and the whole place appeared to be a regular den of sin or something everyone in the wilderness knew about. Overall, the sight made me sorry that there were so many men who didn't want to find any kind of alternative to their vices while they were in New Canaan jurisdiction.

However, I will admit that the entire brahmin carcass roasting over a giant spit in front of the trailer on our left was rather impressive. The fellows in charge of that were charging for a sliver and it smelled so good I almost stopped by for one. But, we were soon stepping up to the door to the brick structure, and passing the bouncer with a nod as we stepped inside.