It was late when the meeting finished. “You did well,” her father said, patting her on the back. Isaka was exhausted. The adrenalin high she had when standing in front of the crowd was gone now, leaving her feeling drained.

“Your father’s right, dear. You spoke excellently.” Her mother said from beside her. Her mother opened the truck door for her and she crawled in, pulling herself up by clinging to the inside seat cover. Isaka read the small notification she got after she finished speaking. It kept popping up in her vision every time she closed it without reading. She got the feeling whoever the system was, it was being insistent. She had closed it three times already without reading, but it kept coming back. Maybe it was because she was just so darn tired.

Congratulations! Due to your actions speaking truth to a room of the most powerful members of your community, you have gained the trait: Community Investor 1! Effect: Increases the effectiveness of any task with your direct involvement, or supervision, by 1%.

Kind of lackluster, if you ask me, she thought as Isaka pulled herself into the cab. Or tried too. She started slipping back and her sister had to catch her.

“Sheesh Isaka, I didn’t know you were that afraid of public speaking,” her sister said as she pushed Isaka’s butt into the truck. Isaka couldn’t help it. She laughed as she was catapulted into the cab. She righted herself, and her sister hopped in next to her. “Come on. Lay down, you need the rest.” Wendy patted her legs and Isaka sighed. Wendy might be her older sister, but they were not that far apart.

“Fine, but wake me up before we get home okay?” Isaka laid her head down, and rolled her feet up bracing against the side of the truck cab as her father and mother got in. She might be 32 but she was beat. And her sister had offered. So what the hell. As the truck pulled away from the barn, Isaka asked a question. “Why did you get a white name, and I didn’t?” She was nearly delirious with exhaustion. Her sister snorted.

“That’s one for mom and dad, not me. Say, why did I get a white name mom?”

“You just looked like my grandmother Wendy when you were born. Your hair was so blond it was almost white.” Her mom said, smiling back at them. “And you,” she booped Isaka’s nose. “You were paler than the moon when you were first born. So, we named you after moonlight and an old story your dad told me once about tasks and the moon. Something your great, great grandfather used to tell him when he was a kid. So, no being jealous of each other’s names. Or I’ll have to get the broom out.” The two sisters snorted and laughed at the threat.

When they were younger their older brother, now moved out of the basin entirely, had been too big for even their mother to discipline. So, she had resorted to a metal broom, poking him in the face with the bristles whenever he started acting rude or doing something stupid. It had carried down to them, and had turned into a type of game as they grew up.

“I haven’t had bristle-face in years. I bet. . .”

*Pop! * Pop!* Pop! *

The air filled with the sounds of distant and distinct gunfire. “Those are twenty-two rounds.” Isaka sat up. “Who would be firing those at this time of night?” She looked out the window and back towards the barn they had come from. The light from the meeting cascaded out over the dark fields and road with an eerie stillness. In the light, two figures lay just outside the barn on the ground, still as death. She couldn’t see who it was, but she knew it had to be supporters of the higher level people who had come to meet. “Shit! Dad, stop the truck now!” Her dad came to a slow roll and then an eventual stop.

“Get the binoculars from under your seat,” her sister instructed, and Isaka pushed herself over and pulled up the seat. She found the hunting binoculars and pulled them out before restoring the seat to normal. “Dad, kill the lights.” He did, and the road was drenched in pitch darkness.

Isaka turned around, looking through the back window, and she put the binoculars to her eyes. The scene became clear in an instant. Two people she knew only vaguely were laying on the ground, dead or unconscious, blood pooling under them. The barn doors had been shut and she could see people moving around inside with weapons, preparing to defend themselves. She looked out past the barn and found the Hutchin’s fields were littered with dead cows. Cows that had been alive just a few hours before.

She watched as dozens of figures emerged from the tall grass of one field that had been left fallow. Growing the grass so the cattle could continue to eat through winter. The grass was about at the point where the Hutchins would need to harvest it, just tall enough to hide people. The figures wore black clothes, some leather, most simple black shirts with hiking boots and jeans or cargo shorts. Almost all of them had a rifle or handgun. Those that didn’t carried wicked looking baseball bats wrapped in wire, crowbars, or other makeshift handheld weapons.

“People from the city.” She recognized two of the faces in the group moving up to the barn. “Shit. It’s those assholes that followed Billy. One of them must have found out about the meeting. Look—” She handed the binoculars over to Wendy who looked through them.

“They’re attacking the barn. But it looks like everyone’s putting up a fight. We should go back and help dad.” Wendy handed the binoculars to their father and opened her door. She pulled out a small handheld flashlight, set it on low-beam and illuminated the bed of their truck. She pulled the tarp free, as Isaka followed her to reveal their families arsenal. They had brought it, just in case. Some families in the basin were pretty pacifist. Peaceful liberal types who wanted to live more in touch with nature, and who grew to love farming. Part of the meetings goals was to arm them, and teach them the basics of self defense. But others had the same idea, and the Smith family hadn’t parted with almost any of their family’s armory.

Wendy grabbed her Henry long rifle .45-70. The biggest gun Wendy could shoot without dislocating her shoulder. Isaka followed suit, grabbing her own red-wood stock custom version of the same weapon. The two sisters had always enjoyed moose hunting. The few years they had been lucky enough to draw a tag. “Let’s go hunting,” Isaka said with a sad smirk.

“Girls.” Their father’s voice filled the air like a sharp whip. They looked over and found him standing not far off. A scoped AR-15 custom slung across his chest. The man was short and had little weight behind him, so the weapon suited his needs just fine for hunting season and taking down the occasional coyote who wondered onto their ranch. “Give me and your mother a few minutes to set up. We’ll cover you from here. And, be careful. Help, but don’t take risks.”

“Yes dad,” both sisters said in nearly perfect unison. They both smirked and Isaka had to fight from rolling her eyes. Despite the desperate situation, she honestly felt pretty connected to her family. They had all kicked into gear, knowing just what they would be doing. There was no running from a fight like this. They had to stand together with their community or they wouldn’t have a community much longer.

Their mother had her own rifle, with a brace mount slung over her shoulder. She was the largest member of the family, and could, without risk of breaking her shoulder, fire a weapon the family had deemed to name ‘the destroyer’. Their mother grinned, but said nothing. She might be a killer shot, but their father had been a soldier. He knew what he was doing.

“Stay safe, dad.” Isaka said as the two disappeared into the brush heading towards a small hill that the main road rested on. They’d set up a nest there, and give them support if trouble got too close. After a few minutes, the two sisters got a text from their mother, and it was time to go.