The raiders refused to join the community but were more than willing to slip in and attempt to steal whatever they wanted. Usually, they rode in on motorcycles, and on one occasion they had a small pickup truck which they'd managed to get running. There were times when community members tried to resist them, but someone always got hurt or killed, and most of the time it wasn't the raiders.

Wade had fallen in the slippery mud and Mike managed to jump over his body, racing on with his hand on his holster. A mud-covered Wade was right behind him. The noise had settled down some, as Mike entered the main room, he could see that his initial assessment was wrong.

Everyone seemed to be in one of the most joyous moods Mike had ever seen. Almost as happy as the day when the old man declared it was safe to leave the shelter.

The sound of the door slamming had caught the group's attention, and they turned and stared at the boys and saw the confused expressions on their faces.

“We heard screaming, thought something must be wrong,” Wade explained.

Focusing more closely on the mud-covered teen, the group, started laughing.

Mike removed his hand from the gun and hurried across to the other members of the group. “What's going on?”

“Quiet! It's starting again,” a man standing at the equipment console demanded.

“Turn it up louder!” Someone shouted back.

Over the old speakers hanging on the wall, a female voice rang out. “Greetings, this is the commanding officer of a team of specialists who were prepared before the comet devastated our civilization. We have a team of over ten thousand men and women, specifically trained for rebuilding our once great nation. We have the technology, tools and knowledge of the past with us and will be helping to rebuild. Please contact us on this frequency, and we'll send a team to meet with you to start the long project which lies ahead of us all. Thank you.”

The cheering started up all over again.

“The message repeats every three minutes on all frequencies,” the man at the console explained.

“What do we do now?” a woman somewhere in the crowd asked.

“I'll answer them,” a deep voice responded. A tall strong-looking man started moving through the crowd, walking slowly and with confidence. The silver-gray hair was the only visible feature which would allow anyone to realize he was as old as he truly was.

With respect, bordering on awe, the crowd quickly parted for the old man. He walked to the console, turned, and faced the group. “For years, I've been telling you the stories about the past. Many of you as children heard me speak of how one day we would rebuild. I said that I envisioned people waiting to help us as we fought to turn things back to where they were. These are the people I spoke of.”

Chapter Forty-Three