The Lights Of Home

I was tired. It had been a long day. The clouds hung in a tired sky that had seen millions of lives go about their business like ants on a hill. The wind whistled gently in my ears and my stomach growled loudly. The dirt road ran for a quarter-mile from the shop to the house, where Jan waited for me to get done with what she called "my madness" and get home for supper. I knew she was lonely. The nearest neighbor was thirty miles to the north, and we were the lucky ones. Some families didn't see another soul but once a year at the Gathering. That's where all the surviving members of the American Resistance Army, or ARA met to swap news, share goods and foodstuffs, and for the young ones to spark. We all looked forward to it. We had decided ten years ago not to live in a township for fear of being wiped out. Putting all of our eggs in one basket so to speak. There were still a few large groups of muds out there, preying on whoever they could find, though their numbers were shrinking due to their own internal feuds and our hit squads that still roamed the countryside, taking them out with guerrilla warfare. It was only a matter of time before they were gone. In the closing days of the war Commander Galt ordered us to concentrate on their females because one ho could breed ten more bucks, but a buck could only create one at a time. It turned out to be a very wise order. It was ok by us because they were just as ruthless as the men anyway. I remember one black bitch I took down just outside Dallas. She wore a necklace made of the pricks of white men. Damn, she was a hard one to kill. But that was then and this is now. And now they were short of females. This prevents them from breeding at the cockroach rate they're so good at, and gives us the edge we need to finish them off. They know they're losing too, and there's a new ruthless savageness in their attacks. They found the Stangler house last year. What they did to those folks can't be repeated. At the Gathering there was even talk to rejoining the hit squads and finishing them off. The women put the brakes on that idea. They'd had enough death and besides, we had kids to raise. They were right. We weren't needed anymore. At least not on the front lines. Our job was to rebuild the race...

As I rounded the bend I could see the lights of home. Nothing ever looked so good to a man. Three of the boys were still playing ball outside in the gathering dark, laughing and tripping each other in the innocent bliss of youth. Thank God they never had to see what kind of world I had lived in before the Collapse. Filth, profanity, graffiti, drugs, ghettos, violent perverts, child molesters, crime, niggers, wetbacks, gangs, corrupt politicians, crooked cops, liberals, political correctness, pollution, immigrants, rape and so on. It had been a nightmare world right out of the first level of Dante's Inferno. It had taken a total meltdown of the system to kick-start the race wars, but when it started all hell broke loose. Starvation, riots, savage mobs of muds roaming the streets killing, looting, raping and burning, leaving millions dead by torture. There were even a few mobs of queers and white trash doing the same thing. Most whites were cowards to the last, cringing in their homes, trusting in their government to save them. Little did they know that their leaders had already flown the coop to safer countries in their Lear Jets, escaping the Karma that was overdue them. They had already surrendered their guns, listening to all the liberal propaganda about how dangerous guns were. So in the end only the muds were armed. They refused to believe their "equals" and "brothers under the skin" would ever harm them. They had swallowed the liberal lie, hook, line and sinker. And they died horribly for it by the millions. There were no more dogs or cats. During the Campaigns we'd sometimes run across old mud campfires. They were always littered with the bones of man's best friends. Sometimes the bones were human...

I gazed at our house with pride. It was an old two-story farmhouse, built sometime in the 1950's. It was sturdy, brick faced, with lots of windows. I could see Jan's trim figure silhouetted in the light of the front one by the porch. She was watching for me. I loved that woman to the bone. She had fought at my side through the hard years and stayed with me to raise a family. She's literally my other half. How women can put up with and raise children is a mystery to me and to all men. We can't do it. We're just not wired for it. As much as a man loves his kids, he's still tempted to club one like a baby seal at times, especially when they break his only watch by creeping into his study, where they know they're forbidden to go. Little things like that.. You know? She puts up with the diapers, the crying all the time, the fighting, the messes..the messes...the messes..... And all the other things that would send a man screaming into the night, pulling tufts of hair out with each hand. But she just smiles that sphinx-like smile of hers and handles it as if she were on a Sunday stroll. Amazing. We've got seven now. All blue-eyed, fair-skinned terrors. Four boys the three girls. I keep the food on the table though because when we first set up shop we raided an abandoned military warehouse that by the luck of the gods hadn't been found and looted. It took Jan and me almost a solid month to build storage and move all the supplies to our home. They're all safely hidden where only a psychic will ever find them. But I don't rely on just the supplies. I have a large truck patch that produces like crazy. Most of what we eat now comes from there and the fruit trees I planted long ago, that are just now really starting to yield.

Medicine's always a problem, but we scrounged up all the medical manuals we could find and instruments, medicines, and "how to" books there were still around, and we spent many a long night studying these to have the skills needed when the inevitable broken bone or other malady struck. But we're not doctors and we lost one child due to something we were never able to figure out. She just got sleepy and never woke up. She was two. She's buried out back on a small hill. Jan visits her once in a while and talks to her. Poor dear. You never heal after losing a child. I know... My boots vibrate loudly on the porch floorboards as I near the front door. Jan opens it and leaps into my arms just like she does every day. You'd think we were still courting. "I missed you." She said with a kiss. "I know." I answered and grinned and she poked me and hissed like a cat, causing me to crack up. The fireplace was already going and Blade was plinking on his guitar as he warmed his butt by it. "Time to eat kids!" Announced Mom. There was a noisy stampede out the door to the washing trough. It looks like a horse trough and it is. It's got a hand pump, soap, towels and a mat to wipe their feet before they re-enter. With this many kids they'd destroy a bathroom, so this was our solution and it works. The dinner table always looks like Thanksgiving. After all the suffering, grief and death my race has been through, a scene like this is indeed, a blessing. As I look around at all the young, bright faces, smiling with life and hope for the future, I too feel a wellspring of hope rise within me. Maybe, just maybe we'll get it right this time...

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