Part One

"Down! Down! Inside! Go!" Ted Donovan screamed at his family as the sound of gunshots echoed through the neighborhood. Dropping packing boxes with no care for the contents, his wife and two daughters scrambled into the house, heading for the relative safety of the basement. Though the attack was evidently aimed at another family, it was not uncommon for a stray round to find its way into the internal organs of an innocent bystander. A brick-lined closet in the basement was the only place in the wood-frame house offering even a modicum of safety. Even then, should an armed gang member take an interest in the Donovan home, they would all be trapped and forced to fight for their lives.

Just eight more hours, Ted prayed silently. If they could avoid trouble for eight more hours, they'd be safely ensconced within the guarded walls of The Arbors Enclave, ready to start a new chapter in their life. The call of safety and security rang so strongly, in fact, that they abandoned the basement redoubt only ten minutes after the shots ceased in order to finish loading the rest of their belongings into the van. The Donovan family wanted out, and fast.

The thirty-five minute drive up the interstate was the most nerve-wracking time in Ted's entire life, even more so than the births of Kimberly and Kathryn. If they were hijacked, they'd be left destitute; all of their belongings were packed into this van and the trailing car. Fortunately, at 5:30 a.m. the highway was relatively deserted. Even the roving bands of gunmen had to sleep sometime. It was to escape this fear, albeit conditionally, that Ted and his family fled north. Their suburban neighborhood had held fast against the growing turmoil for almost two years, thanks to the protection offered by an ex-Army sniper who lived nearby. But even he and his squad of women "troops" had tired of the carnage, and they'd recently retired to live on a farm in the northern part of the state. A highly-defensible farm, without a lot of civilians to worry about.

As Ted's two car caravan rolled up to the gates of The Arbors Enclave, he once again marveled at the men and materiel protecting the area. Not long ago, The Arbors had merely been one of many high-priced neighborhoods surrounding the city, with 200 homes on tree-lined streets, community play areas, an elementary school, and all the amenities one could desire. With only three entrances off the main road, and a high fence around the perimeter, it had become a perfect place to establish an Enclave, an island of security in a tumultuous land.

The history of The Arbors Enclave was both typical and propitious. Three years earlier, a plague swept America, striking down nearly half the male species. Allegedly, though never proven, it had been loosed by a group of militant women who had envisioned a switch to a more peaceful, matriarchal society. But as the millions of corpses piled up, and word of the conspiracy leaked out, the peaceful transition had turned incredibly violent. With police forces depleted and food in short supply, some of the remaining men banded together to take what they needed and take their revenge. In mere months, centuries of human rights gains by women were wiped out. In America, women were once again property, slaves or worse. Not by word of law, or declaration, but simply by popular fiat. The men had the guns. The guns wrote the laws.

The Donovan's old neighborhood hadn't escaped the troubles. Within six months, gangs of armed kids, all male, had taken control of the few remaining grocery stores, handing out government-supplied food in exchange for gold, electronics, guns and sexual favors. Women were at risk for kidnapping and rape not only out on the streets, but during violent home invasions. Widows and women without male protection became common property, used and discarded without any legal recourse. Those who fought back were often brutally killed, used as a lesson to others who might resist. As food supplies grew even tighter, and the home pantries emptied, women began to sell themselves into sexual slavery merely to survive. On the Donovan's own street, two homes operated as sex depots, offering any sexual deviancy in exchange for a little food, of which the women got only enough to avoid starvation. For almost two years The Sniper had been able to keep the worst of the violence at bay. And Ted had used whatever means necessary to angle for a little extra protection.

With the exit of The Sniper, the neighborhood had become as lawless as a Wild West town. It was every man for himself, and sometimes one man against a dozen. Ted had traded a canned ham for a couple of pistols, but he didn't have enough ammunition to teach himself or his family to shoot properly. Instead they survived by camouflage, trying to blend into the surroundings as much as possible. With his still-beautiful 39-year-old wife Terri, a well-developed 17-year-old daughter Kimberly, and a bombshell-in-the-making 16-year-old daughter Kathryn, Ted's family was the target of much speculation and planning none of it wholesome. His wife or daughters never went outside without him. And when they did venture outdoors, he made sure that the women always wore the neck collar that marked them as someone else's property. It was more bluster than anything. But there were enough unprotected women around that most predatory men didn't want to get into a needless gunfight with a jealous owner. Sending the girls to school would've been too risky, given the gunplay on the streets and the slave raids going on all over. So whenever Ted left the house to work at the food processing warehouse, his wife Terri would home-school the girls. He worried about them every second he was away. In no time, the country had returned to the lawless days of the Dark Ages. It was survival of the fittest, in its most violent form.

The federal government had other problems to wrestle with. Most of the nation's lawmakers, including the President, had died in the first few weeks. Without strong leadership, and overwhelmed by the catastrophe, the government had adopted a triage approach. Re-establishing the letter of law had given way to a more immediate concern: feeding a hungry populace. For that they turned to FEMA, the Federal Emergency Management Agency. The only government agency with the manpower and logistical experience to handle the crisis, FEMA established hundreds of food distribution warehouses all over the country. To guard their food stores, they enlisted the Armed Forces and the National Guard. To help manage each enterprise, they enlisted logistics experts. Ted Donovan fit the bill. Unlike sixty-percent of American adults, Ted Donovan was still employed.

For FEMA, armed and trained military professionals made excellent guards for the nation's food supply. But for many of those professionals, guard duty made for boring and repetitious work. Desertions became commonplace as single men and entire units peeled off from the FEMA camps and headed out on their own. Most were too disciplined to become bandits. But their experience protecting the food stores opened up a new opportunity. In exchange for food, shelter and other considerations, many military units found employment providing protection to wealthy, defensible neighborhoods ­ the enclaves.

But for his job at FEMA, Ted would never have been eligible to reside within an enclave. With the death of a family taking an ill-advised vacation, Ted's boss had rewarded him by sponsoring his admission. Surprisingly, it had only taken Terri a few hours to agree to her role in the new community. Kimberly and Kathryn had also readily agreed. Next to possible kidnapping and rape, the Arbors Enclave was definitely the lesser of two evils.

As Ted drove through the gates with his family in tow, their vehicles were surrounded by four heavily armed men. At the leader's soft-spoken orders, Ted and his family left the vehicles in the hands of the men, presumably for inspection, and so that all the food could be placed in the Enclave food bank. Ted had decided to play it straight, and so had packed every morsel of food into the boxes destined for the food bank. Trust was their most important commodity. Besides, if the guard determined that he was cheating on the agreement, the whole family could be expelled. And that would leave them homeless. He speculated that it wouldn't take long for their old neighbors to discover that the Donovan home was vacant, and to begin scavenging through it.

With only the clothes on their backs, and a nervous fear in their stomachs, they walked through the slowly brightening morning to their new home and their new life.