team didn’t trust the Yankees for many reasons.
First, like any predator, there was a natural tendency to protect territory. Since the apocalypse, the ecosystem of the plantation was reinvented, delicate, and far from established. Like all immature organizations, the men and woman who ran El Castillo’s ever-expanding operations feared competition, influence, and any outside meddling that might interfere with their recovery and growth.
Central Mexico’s people had suffered as badly as any on the planet, and the memories of the apocalypse’s aftermath were still fresh in the survivors’ minds. All of them had lost family members to the starvation and violence. Millions had perished horribly, with children and the elderly suffering the worst. Over half of the population had succumbed to disease or malnutrition … or worse yet, at the hand of their fellow man.
Bella’s leadership, brutal discipline, and shrewd management had pulled the local people away from the edge of the abyss. Word spread like the firestorms that ravaged Mexico City and other metropolitan areas. Food, shelter, and sanctuary were available at the plantation.
That news brought both those who desperately needed help as well as those who lived by the barrel of a gun. The plantation had to defend itself almost daily. Bella Dona and her men survived, but barely.
There were too many starving souls, the sheer numbers constantly threatening to overwhelm Bella Dona’s resources. Those multitudes, combined with the roving bands of armed raiders and nomadic gangs, had nearly spelled the end on more occasions than she could remember.
Early on, she tried to frighten the people away. She and her men became harsh, grew mean and intolerant. Still, the metro cities’ refugees streamed to the plantation and stayed no matter how miserable things became. Indentured servitude was better than starvation, rape gangs, dehydration, or the illnesses that flourished outside of Bella Dona’s territory.
Anyone who was willing to work … to do anything for a full belly and a roof overhead, was welcome at the plantation. Even then, people tried to game the communal system. Many arrived at the edge of her property too weak for labor. Bella had lost count of the thousands that she had fed and nursed back to health only to find that they had snuck away in the night, often stealing anything they could carry. Again, the rules were tightened to the point where a long-term commitment was required to stay. Breaking that promise carried the penalty of death. There were no rights, no pay, no privileges – only servitude, hard labor, and unflinching loyalty to Bella Dona and her managers.
Many called it slavery, and the world had hardened Bella Dona to the point where she was comfortable with the term. History was thick with great civilizations that had survived, and even thrived, on forced labor after cataclysmic events. Why should Central Mexico be any different?
Terri and Bishop found a comfortable spot in the sun and settled in as Grim piloted them north across the lake. Using the bright rays and warm air to dry, the couple tried to digest what had just happened.
“We have more questions now than we did before crossing the border,” Bishop complained. “Rather than solve the mystery, we’ve only managed to wander deeper into murky waters.”
“That’s not entirely true,” Terri refuted. “We know that there are at least two organized groups in Mexico and that they don’t like each other very much.”
“I think there are at least three groups. I ‘m pretty sure we haven’t met the people who shot up the convoy.”
Terri had to consider her husband’s comment for a bit before finally agreeing. “You’re right about that. And we still don’t have a clear motive for their attack.”
“Set them free,” Bishop mumbled, barely audible over the big boat’s motors. “We have no idea why the attackers scrawled that on the earthmover. It just
First, like any predator, there was a natural tendency to protect territory. Since the apocalypse, the ecosystem of the plantation was reinvented, delicate, and far from established. Like all immature organizations, the men and woman who ran El Castillo’s ever-expanding operations feared competition, influence, and any outside meddling that might interfere with their recovery and growth.
Central Mexico’s people had suffered as badly as any on the planet, and the memories of the apocalypse’s aftermath were still fresh in the survivors’ minds. All of them had lost family members to the starvation and violence. Millions had perished horribly, with children and the elderly suffering the worst. Over half of the population had succumbed to disease or malnutrition … or worse yet, at the hand of their fellow man.
Bella’s leadership, brutal discipline, and shrewd management had pulled the local people away from the edge of the abyss. Word spread like the firestorms that ravaged Mexico City and other metropolitan areas. Food, shelter, and sanctuary were available at the plantation.
That news brought both those who desperately needed help as well as those who lived by the barrel of a gun. The plantation had to defend itself almost daily. Bella Dona and her men survived, but barely.
There were too many starving souls, the sheer numbers constantly threatening to overwhelm Bella Dona’s resources. Those multitudes, combined with the roving bands of armed raiders and nomadic gangs, had nearly spelled the end on more occasions than she could remember.
Early on, she tried to frighten the people away. She and her men became harsh, grew mean and intolerant. Still, the metro cities’ refugees streamed to the plantation and stayed no matter how miserable things became. Indentured servitude was better than starvation, rape gangs, dehydration, or the illnesses that flourished outside of Bella Dona’s territory.
Anyone who was willing to work … to do anything for a full belly and a roof overhead, was welcome at the plantation. Even then, people tried to game the communal system. Many arrived at the edge of her property too weak for labor. Bella had lost count of the thousands that she had fed and nursed back to health only to find that they had snuck away in the night, often stealing anything they could carry. Again, the rules were tightened to the point where a long-term commitment was required to stay. Breaking that promise carried the penalty of death. There were no rights, no pay, no privileges – only servitude, hard labor, and unflinching loyalty to Bella Dona and her managers.
Many called it slavery, and the world had hardened Bella Dona to the point where she was comfortable with the term. History was thick with great civilizations that had survived, and even thrived, on forced labor after cataclysmic events. Why should Central Mexico be any different?
Terri and Bishop found a comfortable spot in the sun and settled in as Grim piloted them north across the lake. Using the bright rays and warm air to dry, the couple tried to digest what had just happened.
“We have more questions now than we did before crossing the border,” Bishop complained. “Rather than solve the mystery, we’ve only managed to wander deeper into murky waters.”
“That’s not entirely true,” Terri refuted. “We know that there are at least two organized groups in Mexico and that they don’t like each other very much.”
“I think there are at least three groups. I ‘m pretty sure we haven’t met the people who shot up the convoy.”
Terri had to consider her husband’s comment for a bit before finally agreeing. “You’re right about that. And we still don’t have a clear motive for their attack.”
“Set them free,” Bishop mumbled, barely audible over the big boat’s motors. “We have no idea why the attackers scrawled that on the earthmover. It just
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