Raised in Ruins by Tara Neilson

Author:Tara Neilson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: West Margin Press
Published: 2020-06-14T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“They don’t call me James Neilson for nothing.”

—Jamie

WE LIVED in a pocket universe during those years when it was Mom and us kids, with Dad visiting from that other, almost mystical world on the outside, where movies and Hostess snacks proliferated.

I was eleven years old when we heard our parents talking about neighbors moving in. Robin and Chris were young enough not to remember what it was like to have people other than our family around us, so the concept of “neighbor” was entirely alien to them. Megan and I had only ever needed each other for companionship so we saw nothing of value in the idea and didn’t know how to process the news.

Jamie, as usual, had it all figured out. He knew exactly what to make of it.

INVASION.

He immediately set about dealing with the issue by building a huge pile of arrows and a bow for each of us. When he was satisfied with the results of his labors, he began to instruct us in the ways of war.

This was no longer play warfare. This wasn’t wooden sword fighting without real intent to commit harm and “crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentations of their women,” to quote one of Jamie’s favorite movies, Conan the Barbarian. It was serious, and it was covert. Mom, Jamie told us, was under no circumstances to know of our battle plans for the Invaders.

As Jamie drilled us, he evoked the memory of listening to War of the Worlds. This was the Martian invasion all over again, fought this time on a remote Alaskan shore in front of our floathouse home. They would be coming by sea, by motor-powered boat. We’d hear them in time to take cover with our weapons.

That was the important thing. We had to be able to react immediately and with deadly force. “Show no mercy,” he commanded. “Lethal force is the only thing that will protect our way of life. Strangers will never colonize our land. We will execute our duties with extreme prejudice. With our last breath we will spit at them,” he decreed, borrowing indiscriminately from various favorite movies.

We practiced and practiced, following in a crouched run wherever Jamie led, shooting arrows with our bows until we were sore—especially Robin and Chris, who were so small you’d think they’d be exempted from active service. But no. In Jamie’s guerilla army there were no exemptions.

We were the mercenaries in Wild Geese, the Rebel Force in Star Wars, and the winged warriors in Flash Gordon. Jamie was our merciless leader.

Zero hour arrived. Mom, sublimely unaware of this fact, ambled down the beach to greet the boat, named Jaws, which was towing a skiff piled high with furniture, boxes, and other invasion paraphernalia.

It was a quiet day, overcast, with a light drizzle obscuring the tops of the silent, forested mountains. The bay was mirror flat, reflecting the gray sky, and it was damp behind the cedar log that all five of us hunched behind.

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