Strangers
Posted on Sun Nov 1st, 2026 @ 7:51am by Military Commander Victor Rourke
2,369 words; about a 12 minute read
Mission:
Steven's Point
Location: Southern Approach, Stevens Point
Timeline: October 3rd, 2010
The truck stopped exactly where the warning sign told it to. That was the first thing the guards noticed. Most people approaching Stevens Point came too fast, too frightened, or too desperate. They missed signs. They argued. They tested boundaries. These people did none of those things. The faded dark-blue Ford pickup rolled to a halt nearly fifty yards from the outer barricade and shut down before anyone had to tell it twice. Three people were visible inside. Behind them sat a small utility trailer loaded with fuel drums, sealed crates and canvas-covered supplies. The guard in the western tower raised his binoculars. No flag. No military insignia. But near the rear of the truck, painted in white, was a simple mark.
A circle. A short line cut through its lower edge.
“Sergeant.”
The man beside him looked over. “You seen that before?”
The binoculars changed hands. “No.”
Below them, a militia soldier raised his rifle. “DRIVER! OUT OF THE VEHICLE!”
The door opened. A woman stepped out slowly. Late thirties. Brown coat. Jeans. Work boots. Hair tied back. Her hands were visible. No argument. No fear. “My name is Mara Kell,” she called.
“You alone?”
“No.”
At least she didn't lie. The sergeant leaned over the concrete barrier. “What do you want?”
“To speak with whoever commands this settlement.”
“This isn't a settlement.”
Mara looked beyond him. Barricades built from buses and concrete. Elevated firing positions. Patrol routes. Controlled gates. Men with weapons who knew where they were supposed to stand. “No,” she said. “It isn't.” The answer earned her a glance. Mara continued. “We've heard about Stevens Point.”
“That supposed to impress us?”
“No.”
“Threaten us?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
She looked toward the watchtower. “Interest us.”
A militia lieutenant arrived several minutes later. He took one look at the truck, the supplies, and the symbol. “You've got two minutes.”
Mara nodded. “We represent a network of communities and operating groups across Wisconsin.”
“How many?”
“Enough.”
The lieutenant smirked. “Cute answer.”
“Accurate answer.”
He folded his arms. “What do you want?”
“To establish whether Stevens Point is worth dealing with.”
The lieutenant's expression changed. Not anger. Attention. Mara noticed.Good. “We've heard you've established patrol sectors,” she continued. “Labour assignments. Resource controls. Restricted movement. Enforcement.”
“And?”
“Most communities are still pretending the old world exists.”
Mara looked toward the gate. “You aren't.”
The lieutenant said nothing.
“We respect that.” That was different. People who came to Stevens Point usually begged for entry or complained about the rules. Very few praised them. Mara gestured toward the trailer. “Forty gallons of diesel. Antibiotics. Dressings. Purification tablets.”
“What for?”
“Nothing.”
The lieutenant frowned. “Nobody gives away diesel.”
“We aren't giving away diesel.”
“Sure looks like it.”
“We're demonstrating capacity.”
The lieutenant studied her.
Mara continued. “Communities that cooperate with us gain access to information, supplies, road intelligence and trade routes.”
“And what do you get?”
“Order.”
That answer landed. Not food. Not guns. Not territory. Order. “We're trying to prevent useful resources from being squandered,” Mara said. “Fuel sitting in dead vehicles. Medicine locked in abandoned pharmacies. Skilled people starving in settlements that don't know what to do with them.”
The lieutenant's eyes remained on her. “People are resources now?”
“People always were.”
There was no cruelty in the answer. That made it colder. “Mechanics repair vehicles. Farmers grow food. Doctors keep people alive. Soldiers protect infrastructure.” She nodded toward Stevens Point. “Your commander appears to understand that.” The lieutenant looked toward the fortified streets behind him.
“What do you call yourselves?”
“The Circle.”
He glanced at the white marking. “What does that mean?”
“That no useful community survives alone forever.”
A few of the militia exchanged looks. Mara saw curiosity now. Not hostility. Exactly what she had hoped for. The lieutenant stepped closer.
“And if a community doesn't want to cooperate?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Whether they're merely independent…” Mara paused. “…or actively wasting something the rest of us need.”
The lieutenant gave a small smile. It wasn't friendly. It was recognition. He understood the logic. “What about criminals?”
“Useful?”
“Sometimes.”
“Then they're assigned where they're useful.”
“And troublemakers?”
“Depends whether the troublemaker can be corrected.”
“And if they can't?”
Mara met his gaze. “Then they stop consuming resources.”
Silence. One of the guards near the gate actually chuckled. The lieutenant didn't. But he didn't object either. Mara reached slowly inside her coat. Rifles lifted.
“Map.” He motioned for her to continue. She produced a folded road map and held it out. The lieutenant took it. Marked across central Wisconsin were blocked highways, unsafe bridges, areas with large concentrations of the dead, and several routes that remained passable.
He stared at it. “Where'd you get this?”
“People talk.”
“To you?”
“To anyone willing to pay.”
“With what?”
“Fuel. Food. Medicine. Protection.”
The lieutenant folded the map again. “You buy information.”
“We buy usefulness.” That answer produced another silence. Then—
“Who's in charge?”
Mara smiled faintly. “Here?”
“No. Your people.”
“That isn't information we trade at roadside checkpoints.”
The lieutenant almost laughed. Almost. Fair enough. From somewhere inside Stevens Point came the sound of an engine. Then boots. Several sets. Someone important was coming.
Mara looked past the barricade. The reports had been right. This place wasn't chaotic. It wasn't democratic. It wasn't pretending everyone was equal or that every life carried the same practical value. Someone had imposed structure. Rules. Consequences. The Circle could work with that. Perhaps very well. The lieutenant glanced toward the approaching men, then back to Mara.
“What exactly do you want from Commander Rourke?”
Mara considered the question. “A conversation.”
“About?”
“How much of Wisconsin we can keep functioning.” She glanced toward the walls. “And whether we are going to spend our resources competing with each other…” Her eyes returned to him. “…or using them against the people who still think chaos is freedom.”
===
The diesel had been allowed through. That alone said something. The three visitors had not been permitted to keep their weapons. Those had been surrendered at the checkpoint, inventoried, tagged and placed under guard. Mara Kell had approved of that. Not verbally. But Victor Rourke had noticed. She had examined the procedure with the quiet attention of someone comparing it against her own. Now she sat across from him in what had once been the city council chamber. One of her people waited outside. The other had remained with the truck. Mara had come in alone. Either brave or confident. Rourke hadn't decided which. The road map she'd provided lay open between them.
“So,” Rourke said, leaning back in his chair. “The Circle.”
“Yes.”
“Stupid name.”
Mara's mouth twitched. “I didn't choose it.”
“Good.”
Rourke looked down at the map. The intelligence was useful. Two bridges his patrols hadn't checked were marked impassable. A stretch of Highway 10 carried a warning about a large concentration of dead. Another handwritten note identified a farm cooperative twenty-three miles away. GRAIN. APPROX. 30 PEOPLE. COOPERATIVE.
“You keep records on settlements.”
“We keep records on resources.”
“Same thing.”
“Usually.”
That answer interested him. Rourke tapped the farm marking. “What happens to them?”
“If they're producing?”
“Yes.”
“They keep producing.”
“And you?”
“We make sure production isn't interrupted.”
Rourke gave a humourless smile. “And they give you a share.”
“Of course.” There it was. No apology. No speeches about rebuilding humanity. No pretence.
“You tax them.”
“They contribute to the network.”
“That's taxation.”
“If you prefer.”
“I prefer people calling things what they are.”
Mara nodded. “Then yes. We tax them.”
Rourke sat back. He liked her more for saying it. “What happens when they refuse?”
“We determine why.”
“And if the reason is that they don't want to?”
“That's not a reason.”
Rourke laughed. A genuine, short bark of amusement. “Finally.”
Mara watched him. “Finally what?”
“Someone who understands that wanting something isn't an argument.” He stood and walked toward the large wall map. Stevens Point was divided into sectors. Patrol routes. Supply points. Fuel reserves. Population areas. Work details. Everything had a place. Everything had a purpose. Mara rose but remained beside the table.
“How many people?” she asked.
Rourke looked over his shoulder. “You're not getting that number.”
“I had to ask.”
“How many do you have?”
“You had to ask.”
Another faint smile. Rourke turned back to the map. “What do you actually want?”
“Stability.”
“Everyone says that.”
“Most people mean safety.”
“And you don't?”
“No.” That made him turn. Mara continued. “Safety is temporary. Stability requires production, transport, labour, information and enforcement.”
Rourke studied her for several seconds. “Go on.”
“Winter is coming.”
“I've noticed.”
“Most survivor groups haven't.” She approached the map, stopping several feet from it. “They're still scavenging as though supermarkets will refill themselves. They're burning fuel looking for more fuel. They're consuming preserved food without replacing it. They're abandoning farmland because towns are easier to defend.”
“Idiots.”
“Yes.”
No hesitation. Mara pointed toward Wisconsin. “By January, the dead won't be the biggest problem.”
“Food.”
“Food. Heating. Medicine. Fuel. People with useful skills dying because nobody bothered recording who knew how to repair a generator.”
Rourke folded his arms. “And the Circle intends to fix that.”
“The Circle intends to make sure useful things remain useful.”
“Including people.”
“Especially people.”
That interested him most. Rourke returned to the table. “How?”
“Assessment.”
He waited. “We identify skills. Medical condition. Dependants. Experience. Behaviour. Risk.”
“And then?”
“Placement.”
“Jobs.”
“Sometimes.”
Rourke's eyes narrowed slightly. “Sometimes?”
“Sometimes the place someone arrives isn't where they're most useful.”
There it was. Rourke understood immediately. “You move them.”
“If necessary.”
“Families?”
“If necessary.”
“Children?”
Mara paused. Not because she was uncomfortable. Because she understood that this was the question where most people decided what the Circle was. “Yes.”
Rourke stared at her. “Children eat.”
“Yes.”
“They need protection.”
“Yes.”
“They also become adults.”
“Yes.”
“Then anyone planning longer than six months would be a damned fool not to account for them.”
Mara's expression changed. Only slightly. Rourke had surprised her. Most leaders recoiled. He had evaluated the policy. “What do you do with troublemakers?” he asked.
“Depends on the trouble.”
“I don't tolerate dissent.”
“We tolerate disagreement.”
Rourke raised an eyebrow. “For about five minutes?”
“For as long as disagreement remains disagreement.”
“And after that?”
“It becomes disruption.”
Rourke nodded slowly. “And disruption?”
“Costs resources.”
That answer was enough. Rourke poured himself a drink. He didn't offer one. “You know,” he said, “when my man told me someone had driven up to my gate offering diesel and asking questions, I expected another idiot with dreams of rebuilding Congress.”
“We're not rebuilding Congress.”
“Thank God.”
“We're building something that works.”
Rourke took a drink. “So am I.”
Mara glanced around the council chamber. “Yes.” There was respect in the word. Not submission. That mattered.
Rourke set down the glass. “So where's the problem?”
“We don't know that there is one.”
“You came here to find out.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Mara considered him. “Stevens Point is organised. Defensible. Productive enough to remain viable. Your people follow a command structure. You control your roads and maintain vehicles.”
“You've been watching.”
“We observe everything before committing resources.”
Rourke's expression hardened. “How long?”
“Long enough.”
That answer he liked considerably less. Mara saw it. “We didn't enter your territory.”
“You're sitting in my territory.”
“Because you invited me.”
Rourke stared at her.
Mara didn't look away.
Then he smiled. Coldly. “Careful.”
“Always.”
He walked back to the table. “What can you provide?”
“Depends what Stevens Point can provide.”
“There's the negotiation.”
“Yes.”
Rourke pulled out a chair. This time he gestured toward the other. Mara sat.
“Diesel,” Rourke said.
“Possible.”
“Medicine.”
“Limited.”
“Ammunition.”
“Calibre?”
“Several.”
“Make a list.”
“Vehicle parts.”
“Make a list.”
“Road intelligence.”
“Already available.”
Rourke nodded toward the map. “And in return?”
“Information.”
“Fine.”
“Access to selected roads.”
“Maybe.”
“Trade.”
“Obviously.”
“Mutual notification of significant armed groups moving through the region.”
“Agreed.”
Mara paused. “And population transfers where mutually beneficial.”
Rourke's eyes lifted. There it was. The first real test. “Explain.”
“A doctor trapped in a settlement with two hundred antibiotics and no surgical equipment isn't being used effectively. A mechanic sitting in a farming compound while another community has six disabled trucks is misplaced. We move resources where they're needed.”
“You mean people.”
“Yes.”
Rourke considered that. Not the morality. The logistics. “If I send you a mechanic, I lose a mechanic.”
“You receive something of equivalent value.”
“According to who?”
Mara met his eyes. “That's what would need negotiating.”
Rourke leaned back. Now he understood. The Circle wasn't asking Stevens Point to surrender. Not yet. They were offering something much more dangerous. A system. And damned if parts of it didn't make sense. “Who's above you?” he asked.
Mara's expression became neutral again. “I have regional authority.”
“That wasn't my question.”
“No.”
Rourke waited. Nothing. Eventually he smiled. “You're disciplined.”
“I try to be.”
“Your boss must be interesting.”
Mara said nothing.
Rourke reached for the road map.
“Tell whoever you report to that Stevens Point is interested.”
Mara nodded. “Interested isn't agreement.”
“I know.”
“And the Circle doesn't require an answer today.”
Rourke looked at her. “Good.” He folded the map. “Because I don't join things.”
Mara stood. “Neither did most of us.” She headed toward the door.
Rourke watched her go. “Mara.” She stopped. “If your people come onto my roads without announcing themselves, they'll be treated as hostile.”
“Understood.”
“And if anyone wearing that little circle tries taking one of my people—”
“They won't.”
Rourke's gaze hardened. “You didn't let me finish.”
Mara turned back toward him. “No,” she said calmly. “But I understood the rule.”
For several seconds they stared at one another. Then Rourke nodded. “Good.”
Mara opened the door. “One more thing, Commander.”
“What?”
“We have the same rule.”
The door closed behind her. Rourke remained standing beside the table. He looked down at the map. Fuel. Medicine. Information. Trade. People who understood discipline. People who understood that survival wasn't democratic. For the first time since the world had ended, Victor Rourke had encountered an organisation that didn't seem completely incompetent. That made the Circle potentially useful. It also made them potentially dangerous. Rourke smiled. At least things were getting interesting.
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