Secrets of Liberty Mountain (Final)

"May I?" she snickered as she leaned over and took the lighter from my hands and held the blaze before me.

"Thanks," I blushed and inhaled. "But, don't you think you should put on some clothes?"

"Nope. My house. My rules. It's what mom always says." She sat on my lap and wiggled her bottom.

"Nope. My lap, my rules." I spread my legs and allowed gravity to slide her to the floor.

The change in altitude failed the change her attitude. From her new position on the hardwood, she sat eye-level with my zipper.

She turned to face me and smiled. "Am I arousing you?" she asked as her index finger traced the bulging outline beneath my cargo pants.

"Yes you are, and no you're not," I twitched as I moved her hands to the safety of my knees. "Star, my dear, truthfully, you're too young, and I'm too old. I'm in a relationship with your mother, and such things aren't proper," I said with all the kindness I could muster.

"You know that's not true," she said as her hands reached for my trousers. "I know you enjoyed yourself when you gave me a handful of sperm." Her fingers fumbled with my zipper.

"That was then, and this is now. We're not going there again," I said as once more I placed her hands on my knees.

"What's changed?" she pulled her arm away and rested her hand on the tent in my shorts. "You're as hard now as you were then. Don't you like me anymore?" she asked in dismay.

I had compassion, I had suffered through puberty. I remember the heartbreak of misplaced desire. Trust and believe, nothing hurts like a broken crush.

"Slow down, give me a second." I cursed myself for not having the will to live my values; men don't have sex with the daughters of lovers. Brandy was blunting the few inhibitions I had left, and I allowed her fingers a few moments to explore. Cannabis came to the rescue as the blunt I had before arrival kicked into high gear, no pun intended. "I'll strive to be truthful and kind," I said as I held her hand and stopped her forward advance.

"Since you pleasured me like that, your mother and I have become sexually involved." I looked into her eyes.

"I know. You two are lovers. So what? You're not my father," she said as her hand continued its northward journey along my pant legs. I tensed against anticipation as I fought the desire to surrender to lust.

"I like the feelings I get when I touch you. I've never felt that way before," she cooed as she slipped her hand past mine and unzipped my fly and her fingers found Harvey, the camel's nose was in the tent. I shivered; it felt wonderful and wrong.

I gathered the last of my reserve and said, "NO!" like I meant it and pulled her wandering hands away from my private parts. "My relationship with your mother makes me your de-facto father, or step-dad, or something. Fathers don't have sex with daughters."

"Woody Allen did," she said with a curious grin. Star had a memory like her mother and a mind filled with Wikipedia articles. Fifteen years of homeschooling, the Sisterhood, and the internet had given her an encyclopedia of knowledge without experience.

"Yeah, he did. But, I'm not Woody. I don't have his money or his morals. I have my own, and it's wrong. Period." I dotted the 'i' in the air with my finger as I drew a line in the sand. Time to walk the walk. I gently pushed her away and pulled my zipper closed.

"I know you liked it. You really liked it," she pleaded with tears in her eyes.

"Yes I did honey, but it's not the point," I took her in my arms and gave her a hug of fatherly affection. I felt awful; the poor teen had no interest in women. None. Zip. "Starshine, my darling, you are very beautiful and alluring." I stroked her hair to calm her sobs and tried to think.

She was an apex heterosexual with no desire for her gender. Females didn't fan her fancy. Puberty and fate had placed her in a prison with no way to explore her desires. With me being the only man in her world, it was little wonder I had her attention. Hormones can be hell. How on earth do nudist dads, and naked daughters deal with this shit?

"Star, sweetheart, I can not, correction," I coughed and cleared my throat, "I will not have sex with you. I can love you and guide you. I can be your pretend father. We will never be lovers." My hug ended in a cringe. 'Pretend Father?' where the heck did that come from?

"I would like that," my new daughter's voice whispered with a sniffle from beneath a shroud of blond hair.

"Would you teach me about sex?" she asked as she lifted her head and looked into my face. "I mean like a real father," she quickly added as my eyes widened in alarm.

The shine in Star's eyes made me doubt her sincerity, but it was a starting place. She needed a dad more than a boyfriend. It might as well be me. Damn it.

"Wolfie, can I call you daddy?" she asked slyly with a silly sideways smile as she climbed to her feet. "I need to blow my nose." She sneezed into her hands and went to her room to find a hanky.

"No!" I chuckled after her. "Call me pa, as in WolfPaw."

"I prefer WolfPaw better. Okay?"

"Whatever," I replied with an appreciative smile.

"Thanks, Dad," she laughed and disappeared into her room.

I took her departure as an opportunity to regroup and reorganize. I stood and lit a cigarette and tossed a fresh log on the embers and watched the flames rising from the wood like a ring of fire.

"We certainly live in interesting times," I sighed aloud and blushed.

It's okay to talk to yourself as long as you remember who's speaking. I grabbed my kit and headed for the community shower, I wanted to sleep in clean skin.

The citadel of cleanliness was clear of people, and I had the place to myself. I stripped and selected the back corner, turned on the water and stepped into a falling river of relief. After several minutes of delightful bliss beneath the steam, Sheila's voice echoed from the tiles, "Sky? Are you there? Jennifer's firing up the shortwave array. I would like you there when we go up-periscope,"

"Aye, aye, skipper." I turned off the water and emerged from the steam.

Like I said, no rest for the wicked.

Chapter 42

"Thank you, what's the deal?" I asked as I took the offered towel from Sheila's hands and fluff-dried my thinning mane. Hair loss among men is a myth. It's not so much our locks leave as they change location. The stuff which had lived on my head now sprouted from of my ears.

"Jen thinks the ionosphere has settled enough for shortwave. At her suggestion, I've decided it time we start a twenty-four-seven radio watch. You got the first shift. Listen and log, let's see what's going on out there." She hesitated and sniffed as she knelt and held open my dingy, no longer white underwear. "Don't you have anything clean?"

"I do. Back in my room. I didn't pack."

I thankfully touched my hand to her head for balance as she eased my foot into the correct opening. With the agility of an ox, I managed it on the second try.

~~~

"Last count, they're sixteen thousand commercial radio transmitters, give or take, in the northern hemisphere," Jennifer noted as she fiddled with a bank of switches and meters.

"Come on baby, you can do it," she whispered and patted the Coast Guard gray metal case housing the vintage relic from the seventies. The thirty pound Yaesu FT-101EE radio was a Craigslist steal, acquired by the Society for a few cents on the dollar. Beautifully maintained and lovingly cared for, the fifty-year-old workhorse still had the original protective film of plastic covering its face to protect the rig from scratches and dirt.

"Then again, maybe not," she muttered after several minutes without success. Nothing but random noise.

"Even in the worst atmospherics we should hear something," Her dark eyes narrowed as she slowly spun the silver dial and scanned the airwaves.

"It's called dead air for a reason," she sighed.

"Ninety-watts should get us noticed, she re-set the power and keyed the mike. "You-Hoo! Anyone on? Radio check."

"I read you four by four. Mable here down in Meeker, South between East Market and the river. Lady, it great to hear another voice. You're my first contact since it happened. Who is this? Over."

"Liberty Mountain calling, Jen here. We're within fifty miles. We live away from folks. Mable, you are also first outside connection since the shit hit the fan. What happened at your end? Over."

"Jen, are you a licensed operator? Over."

"Negative. Qualified yes. Don't worry, we will make way for traffic. Over."

"Copy that. Things here are an 'effin mess. The storm blew about every transformer and started hundreds, maybe thousands, too many fires to count. Except for a few hot spots they've since burned out. Half of Meeker is in ruins, and most of the other half is heavily damaged. I'm okay. Over.

"Oh my God! That is awful. Mable, what happened? Over."

"Liberty, a better question would be, 'What didn't happen?' Almost everything is busted, broken, or ashes. Aside from a few go-karts, and ATVs, about the only working transportation I've seen, are mostly older vehicles, trucks, and cars from the sixties or before. The sheriff's department is commandeering anything still running. Over."

"That is bad. Over."

"Yes Liberty, it is bad and getting worse. FEMA told us Air Force One went down in a mid-air collision while making an emergency landing at Andrews. They tell us the president, is dead, and so are the congressional leaders who were with him...." Mable's transmission died in a garble of nonsense as interference smothered her words

"Mable, Say again, you are breaking up. Over."

Static answered.

"Hayi suka! The Gods of chaos will not let us talk," Jennifer glared at studio speaker for several seconds before she silenced the blizzard of white noise with an angry slap of her hand.

"We'll try again at the top of the hour. Sky, can you brew a fresh pot?" Sheila handed me her empty coffee cup. It was going to be a long night.

~~~

"Well, that explains the hazy skies and gorgeous sunsets," Sheila said as she poured a shot of brandy into her half-full coffee mug.

"What explains what?" I looked around as I searched the Technicolor sky for the source of her speculation.

"It's all the smoke from burning cities. Got a light?" Sheila reached her arm across the cafe' style table and plucked my cigarettes from my breast pocket.

"So far, every contact we've made in the last three days, all two-hundred plus, have told us pretty much the same story. The fire in the sky was followed by fire on the ground." She held the flame to the tip of her cigarette.

"I can't even begin to imagine what it's like out there," she shivered as she adjusted her gray V-neck Sweater to cover her shoulder. Cashmere was as practical as it was stylish, soft, and about three times as warm as wool, it suited her.

"Millions, maybe billions, of families homeless, hungry, and broke. Money's no good unless you got someone willing to take it."

"Please hold me for a moment, I don't want to feel alone," the Leader said as she slipped her arm around my waist and drew me close to her side.

She leaned into me as I braced myself against the railing. Despite the warmth of the evening, I trembled as I hugged her body to mine.

Together in silence, we stood as the colors drained from the day and night flooded the valley with shadows and twinkling fireflies searching for lovers in a mating ritual as old as time.

"The poor children. No food. No electricity. No place to live. It's going to be a long winter," she sniffed as she tapped the gray ash from the glowing end.

"It's going to be a long forever," I replied as I softly kissed the tears leaking from her closed eyes.

In the distance, an unseen owl cried, "Who?"

"Thank you. I needed that," Sheila said as she smiled and traced the outline of my mustache with her index finger.

~~~

"Why the blindfolds?" I inquired as I took one of the black silk bandannas from Martha's hand.

"Part of the surprise, no peeking," she placed the folded fabric over my eyes knotted the scarf behind my head.

"I feel like a cat in a sack, I can't see a thing," I grumbled as she pulled and poked the cloth and checked her handiwork for light leaks. Open or shut made no difference. My eyes saw nothing in a world blacker than midnight.

"Don't be such an old fart, you'll ruin the fun. The sisters want a proper unveiling. You know, half the pleasure of getting a gift is unwrapping it. Play along," Sheila's friendly voice advised me from behind.

"Is it bigger than a bread box?" I mumbled. The other half was guessing what was under the wrapping paper. I explored my mind for clues. Whatever mystery or magic lay behind the door, was likely connected to last night's hammering and banging. Twenty Five hours without sleep had depleted my batteries and left me dead on my feet, too tired to indulge my curiosity.

"Step-up," Martha cautioned as she guided me over the threshold and through the back entrance to the meeting hall. The tangy scent of new sawdust mingled with the aroma of paint, varnish, and adhesive. The acoustics around me sounded different than on previous visits. Odd. More confined, fuller, like the echoes, were not as empty.

"Are they ready?"

"Star?" I gasped.

I've hated surprises ever since my aunt gave me a shiny new Jack-in-the-Box when I turned four. Absolutely wonderful until the melody stopped. Later, before bedtime, I beat it to death with my dad's baseball bat. What kind of person gives a little kid a music box filled with monsters?

"Shh," Alice's daughter shushed me; Her elfin fingers over my lips wore a lavender flavored blend of soap, glue, and solvents.

I nodded, relaxed, and said nothing. Calm is the best armor against the unknown. I know, I have a lifetime of dents to prove it.

"Ready? Blindfolds off on my mark," she paused a moment before shouting out a countdown almost worthy of NASA.

"...five, four...er, three, ...two, ...one. Let there be light!"

"Wow!" My cry of astonishment was lost amid the GROUP's shouts of joyful thanks and cheers from the assembled sisterhood.

"Commander, if I may, "Starshine stiffened to attention as she saluted with a grin, "On behalf of us all, I present to you," she proclaimed as her salute became a wave of her arm, "This, our offering for the GROUP!"

With sweat and imagination, the society's artisans, painters, and carpenters transformed the meeting-rooms theater into a Monty Python set on mushrooms.

An expansive hexagon-shaped table dominated the center of the stage, beneath a hula-hoop sized dream catcher hanging from the rafters. Behind it, the concrete wall at the back was covered with a whimsical rendition of a yellow brick road winding its way toward an emerald green castle, far away in the mountains.

In the foreground, a mannequin dressed as Alice in Wonderland was emerging from the Looking Glass to the amusement of Dorothy and her little dog. The pet puppy from Kansas was attired in cowboy clothes, complete with head-gear. The ace of spades in the hatband of Toto's gray Stetson reflected back as red.

Further up the road, the Golden Way was flanked and almost blocked by a poker-playing Mad Hatter, Tinman, and a mangy hookah smoking lion seated around a tiny card table. The smoldering bud in the bowl was an Almanac, dated next year. Like his mentor, the Cheshire stand-in, from his transparent toes to his translucent thighs, was fading away. Even his upper torso appeared misty, only the smile was was crisp and sharp.

A huge map of North America, about ten feet wide and five feet tall floated in midair, suspended by thin black wires fastened to the shadowed ceiling. Damn clever, the USA on one side and the world on the other.

To the right of the road, the mural continued along the western wall and merged into a view of ancient Athens as seen from the Parthenon. Three lifelike nude priestesses of differing shades held hands as they kneeled before the radiantly beautiful Goddess, Athena.

The Olympian woman of wisdom and war carried over her shoulder a military-style rifle. A single red rose grew from its muzzle.

The artist had turned light into poetry. The sunlit side of the virgin deity of divine intelligence: fair, blond, and stern. Her features in shadow were a motherly metaphor of African delight and ageless knowledge as her slender lips widened into a smile of kindness and compassion. She towered over her disciples with her hands above heads as if bestowing blessings.

I nodded toward the deity as I studied the painting and fingered my necklace. I understood the guns and roses symbolism. A visual pun, well done and a hint the next blessing might be the wisdom to avoid war. Lot's of luck.

Twin lumber and canvas structures painted to resemble Greek columns added dimension and depth to the illusion.

I smiled as I read the spray-painted graffiti scrawled across the pillars; 'If not now, when?' and, 'The future ain't what she used to be.' Nice touch.

"What is this place?"

"Daddy, it's a think tank. Do you like it, Wolfie?"

"No," I said as I caressed her cheek.

"I love it!" Every aquarium needs decor."

Chapter 43

"That should do it. Time check," Belinda wiped sweat from her brow with her drenched t-shirt and braced her entrenching tool against the entrance of the newly constructed "bunker-in-a-bag."

Unless you were part Mountain Goat, the winding ridgeline trail was the only drivable and walkable unbroken overland route from town to our base. Prior to SkyFire, arrays of remote sensors and wireless cameras guarded the pathway to the Society's home. The sun pulled the plug and left us blind. Our mission was to fill the gap with a concealed guard post.

Our building project had started life as a bad joke. I was helping Sheila do an inventory of strange and obscure supplies. Stuff ordered over the years but never used.

I opened a dusty storage locker to find it filled with hundreds of bundles of self-sealing sandbags.

"Great, a box of instant bunkers, all we gotta do is add sand," I quipped.

Instead of laughing, Sheila took notes and made a list. An hour later she had assembled all the tools and equipment required to quickly build a fort in the field. She called the kit a bunker-in-a-bag.

My partner and I were tasked with operationally testing the idea after Belinda volunteered us to do a proof of concept deployment. The place of Darlene and Alice's liberation was the GROUP's location to construct the colony's first permanent outpost, "Camp Sticky Fingers."

With an eye toward history, I sketched a map in my journal and gave the nameless landmark the new title of 'Reunion Point.' cartographer's get naming rights. One of the perks of the office.

"Four hours, thirteen minutes," I replied as I checked my watch for the time and recorded the same in my field notes. "Sheila should be pleased. She didn't think we could finish in less than five hours," I said as I took a pre-packed pot pipe from my pocket and held it high.

I tilted my head to one side and gave the Frost Queen an inquiring look.

"We'll smoke to success after we clean-up and do a concealment check."

The hidden sandbag structure carved into the leeward side of the ridge's crest was more shelter than a camp. The foot-and-half of roofline visible from the direction of approach had been carefully contoured and camouflaged to appear, at a distance, to be nothing more than another random rock formation. The bunker's eight-inch high observation window lay in the shadowed recess of the largest nook and cranny; a micro-cave, width about eighteen inches and a foot deep. Invisible in plain sight.

Sheila christened the innovation, "bunker-in-a-bag" because the entire ten-pound kit fit into a ten-by-fourteen inch olive drab sandbag. Each bag-of-bags contained: