The Gates of Babylon by Michael Wallace Page B

the governor and his allies, before the Feds snap it all up.”
    Jim felt himself moving past some invisible line, beyond which he would not be able to step back. A point of disloyalty to the government, a point of selfish pursuit of his own survival at the expense of his people and his state. No, that was wrong. It was about building strength. What could he do as a puppet of the federal government? Nothing.
    “Go on,” he said at last.
    Parley crossed to the window. “When a great empire collapses, it is replaced by fifty or a hundred little kingdoms, each one led by men strong enough to seize power and to hold it against other kings, governors, and warlords.
    “We’re practically an island,” Parley continued. “Surrounded by deserts and protected by mountain ranges. Thank Brigham Young for that. That’s exactly what he was thinking when he led the Saints west. And when the federal government pulls out—or we drive them out—”
    “Are you kidding?” Jim interrupted.
    “What?”
    “Drive them out? You’re talking war with the United States. That’s nuts.”
    “Of course it’s nuts,” Parley said with a shrug. “We’re talking worst-case scenario. Things have pretty much collapsed by then. The army goes rogue. That kind of thing.”
    Jim blinked at him then sighed. “Fine, then what?”
    “Assuming all that,” his brother continued, “we have to hold Salt Lake, Ogden, and Provo. That’s the bulk of the population right there.”
    “Millions of people in Utah,” Jim said. “We produce what? A third of our own food.”
    “Less, once you take away fertilizers, fuel for tractors, and so on.”
    “Exactly. No way around that.”
    “So? A population reduction is inevitable.”
    Jim stared. “Chilling how calmly you say that. Makes the hairs on my arms stand on end to hear you toss out the death of millions of people like we were talking about roadkill.”
    “We’re in overshoot,” Parley said. “Once you strip away modern agriculture, look around, and realize we live in a desert, suddenly it feels like we’re living on Easter Island before the collapse.” He shook his head. “We can be sentimental, or we can be practical. There’s no room for both.”
    “Anyway, there’s another problem,” Jim said. “The instant we declare independence from Washington, every rural town in the state will declare independence from Salt Lake. We’d need an army. And that means weapons.”
    “Agreed,” Parley said. “Feds pull out, we’ll move to secure the army proving grounds. The air force base. Take what’s left fromthe National Guard armories.” He nodded at Alacrán. “Lazario diverted some weapons from the arms heading south to Mexico. Assault rifles, grenades, even machine guns.”
    Alacrán had been staring up at the colored-in map of Utah but looked over at mention of his name. “And I’ll get more, so long as you’re willing to pay.”
    “Yeah, I’ll bet,” Jim said. “You’ll be collecting every step of the way, won’t you?” He turned back to his brother. “Weapons aren’t enough if it comes to war between the cities and the countryside. The cities will have two million people. The rural areas a tenth that, but they’ll have the food.”
    “Only until we take it,” Parley said. “And then
we’ll
own it,
we’ll
control the land and the labor.”
    “And how will we take it when our soldiers will be walking skeletons?
If
the Feds pull out, it will only happen at the end. Only after they’ve fed our boys into their army, stripped us of anything of value, and left us in the desert to starve.”
    “And what if we get your army its food?” Parley said. “What if you found yourself with the biggest food stockpile west of the Rockies?”
    Jim leaned forward. “What are we talking about?”
    “Thirty-five hundred tons of wheat. Eight hundred tons of beans and rice. Eight thousand head of cattle, and three thousand hogs.”
    “That’s something,” Jim said. “Not