A Powerless World | Book 2 | Survive The Lawless

by Hunt, Jack

  “About?”

  “Getting compensated for their time. Some deputies think there should be more resources allocated for emergency service workers as right now they’re working for nothing.”

  He ran a hand around the back of his sweaty neck. “I understand but we all have a job to do. The government could get this solved in the next few weeks.”

  He had a strong feeling they wouldn’t but he needed people to believe it was true. Without hope, the people could turn and walk away. So far none of the deputies had, which was a testament to the strength and resilience of the department, but that could change.

  “No, I get it. And I’m with you. I’ve got your back. I’m just relaying what I’ve heard.” Johnson drummed fingers against the steel barrier on the bridge. “Anyway, I’ll get on with what you requested.”

  Dan nodded.

  “Johnson. One last thing. How is the prison doing?”

  He gave a confused look as if Dan should have known about this. He should have, it was just his plate had been full since taking office forty days ago. For the past eleven days, he had been working with the OES, trying to deal with citizens, and handle immediate matters, not problems contained in four walls.

  That’s why Johnson had been a lifesaver. In many ways, he really should have been sheriff but he didn’t want the position, the hassle, the responsibility. No one did. Johnson clicked his fingers. “Oh, I forgot to get back to you on that. Damn it. I knew there was something I was meaning to talk to you about.”

  “It’s all right. We’ve had a lot on our minds lately. What is it?”

  Johnson walked back to him. “Before you entered office, they were releasing inmates to reduce those in close quarters to one another during the pandemic.”

  “Right, I remember.” He vaguely did. “And?”

  “There are 417 cells and almost 400 of those were in use on any given day back in March last year. We reduced that number to 324. Most of those are serious offenders and violent felons.”

  Dan was confused. “So the problem is?”

  “Well, first, the number has gone back up in the last two weeks. I mean, in the second week, we had those looters. We had to put them somewhere. So now anyone who is 65 or older, or suffering from some chronic illness is now being considered for release. All the correctional facilities are doing it.”

  “Of course. It makes sense. But I’m still not seeing the problem here.”

  “How do I put this? Most of the ones that were released were placed in SWAP, the Sheriff’s Work Alternative Program, to finish their sentence outside of custody.”

  He gave him a confused look. “SWAP?”

  Johnson rubbed his forehead. “Forgive me for asking, but weren’t you made aware of this when you took office?”

  “Of course. Yes. Of course. But walk a few days in my shoes, Johnson, and you would understand how easy it is to forget, especially when you’re staring down a pandemic and now a countrywide grid down situation. I’m tackling a lot, that’s why I depend on people like yourself to remind me from time to time.” Okay, he was reaching. He knew it. Johnson knew it. “So?”

  “Well, the alternative program was a different form of confinement for the low-risk offenders. It reduced overcrowding and gave these inmates a way to be productive. It was for those sentenced to 180 days or less, who had no pending case, were fit for labor, able to work one day a week, work for eight hours, had transportation, and a physical address.”

  He waved his hand, getting annoyed by the waffling. “Right, right. Okay? Get to the point.”

  “The point is, that’s all well and good, but most have left town.”

  A frown appeared.

  “Before the grid went down, we had a way to track them, enforce matters. Not now. Many are gone or…”

  “Ah, I get it. You think they're responsible for the break-ins?”

  He nodded. “Regardless, the number of inmates has gone up. We need to discuss releasing those that aren’t serious felons.”

  “Right.” An idea came to him, a way to potentially quell the coming violence. “Isn’t one of Hank’s oldest daughters inside?”

  “Nancy. Yeah. Why?”

  “I think I will go and talk to her. And… uh, again, thanks, Johnson. I appreciate you bringing me up to speed. I’ll handle that and go see what I can do.”

  He smiled and walked off, leaving Dan alone.

  Two weeks. You can do this, Dan told himself as he looked out from the bridge downriver. He glanced up at the green hills, wondering if the Rikers had him in a crosshair. Had they been watching and relishing this moment? He exhaled hard and followed Johnson, getting away from the mountain that was infamous for murder.

  FOUR

  Colby

  Merced County

  The intricate spider tattoo replayed in his mind as Colby showered beneath a solar 5-gallon shower bag. After allowing the sun to heat the contents, Jebediah had hooked it up in the bathroom on a makeshift shelf. There were several bags there, not just one. It was clever. How many would have given thought to do that when faced with a grid-down situation? As the warm water rushed over him, circling his feet, he grappled with the unknown.

  Stepping out of the shower, he looked in the mirror, wondering if seeing his face might bring back a memory, but it didn’t. He looked like he’d gone ten rounds with a pro boxer. While there was no longer any swelling, time couldn’t hide the sickly bruising covering his back, legs, and arms. His cut lip, and the laceration on his left cheek was healing nicely but it was still noticeable. He’d taken one hell of a beating. He opened his mouth and noticed that all his teeth were there. He figured they would at least be cracked. Whoever had done this could have easily killed him outright. Why hadn’t they? Why had they stopped short and left him for dead? It was almost like they wanted him to be found or endure a long, painful death.

  The only upside was that his bones didn’t feel broken even though his ribs were black and blue. Without an X-ray, it was impossible to know if he had any hairline fractures. Right now the meds were masking pain.

  Standing naked before a pile of neat clothes, he caught his reflection in the mirror again. His beard had grown wild and unruly. He ran a hand through it.

  He looked like a broken man, a stranger.

  Colby reached into the medicine cabinet and took out a pair of small scissors, and began to hack away at the wiry growth.

  Later, when he entered the kitchen wearing the clothes of the Mannings’ son, his face was smooth, clean-shaven. He felt awkward. Out of place. It all felt wrong.

  Conversation stopped. The clatter of cutlery ceased. Carol paused, scraping fruit from a plate, her eyes bore into him.

  “Ah, they fit,” she said.

  He pulled at the blue jean shirt that felt tight. “Yeah. I guess.”

  “I see the beard is gone.”

  He ran a hand over his jaw.

  “Take a seat,” Jebediah said, gesturing to the end of the table. They were all around a rectangular wooden table in the middle of a stone floor kitchen. The aroma of instant coffee filled the air. Jenna was across the table, a piece of toast in her mouth, eyes locked on him. She grinned, and that brought a smile to his face. Carol had cooked everything using a portable stove and left one of the windows open to allow a cool breeze to blow through the house. Colby pulled out a chair.

  “I appreciate all you’ve done for me,” he said.

  “You are more than welcome,” Carol replied. “It was the right thing to do. God would have us do it. Tell me…” she sounded as if she wanted to say his name. “Do you believe in God?”

  Both of his eyebrows rose. “That’s a loaded question.”

  “But a simple one,” she replied.

  “Probably… if I could remember.”

  Jenna chuckled.

  Jebediah touched Carol’s arm and shook his head as if cautioning her. It wouldn’t have started an argument because his mind felt like a fresh slate. There were no preconceived ideas, no fo
rmed beliefs. It was as if he’d been reborn and was seeing the world through untainted eyes.

  That morning they ate scrambled eggs, toast, and fresh fruit. Carol told him she made her own bread, they had several orange trees, and the eggs came from the hen house. For a world that was struggling, they appeared to be taking this in stride.

  “Would you mind passing the water, Jebediah?” Colby said.

  He moved it in front of him.

  “Call me Jeb.”

  Over breakfast, Jeb had promised to take him out to the field to show him where they found him, to see if it would spark a memory, but before that he wanted to get his help in the barn milking the cows. Chores. That always came first. He said carrying milk pails would build strength.

  They spent the remainder of their time at the table eating in silence.

  “You said the power grid has been down for eleven days. Do you know what caused it?” Colby asked as they made their way into a huge red barn, a hundred yards from the cozy two-story farmhouse.

  “What I’ve been able to glean from the emergency broadcast is that it was some form of attack on America. No specifics have been given. Everyone must shelter in place and wait for updates and help.”

  “And have you seen any?”

  “Help?” He laughed, shaking his head. “I mean, there has been an evacuation."

  “I forgot to ask. Where are we?”

  “Merced County, California. You’re about two miles outside the town of Gustine. Does that ring any bells?”

  “I wish it did,” he replied, shaking his head. Inside the barn, there were six cows in stalls. Outside they had a hen house and nearby a field with seven horses. As Jeb showed him how to milk one of the cows, Colby continued to pepper him with questions in the hope that it might spark something. “This town — Gustine. What’s the situation like?”

  Jeb glanced at him. “Troubling.”

  “In what way?”

  He inhaled deeply. “It’s a small town. Close to six thousand people. The police department had their work cut out for them when the lights went out and the cars stopped. They had eleven employees. Do the math. Trying to maintain order wasn’t easy.”

  “They had?”

  “Had what?”

  “You said they had eleven people working for them.”

  His head bowed. “There is a bad element in town. Always has been. A few took matters into their own hands — home invasions, breaking into businesses — your general shenanigans. Now don’t get me wrong. Most of the town are good people. Hard-working folk who wouldn’t dream of doing such things to their neighbors, but you don’t need many to get the ball rolling. Once supplies are taken, others get desperate, desperation breeds rash decisions, rash decisions can lead to unlawful behavior, and so on. It’s had a bit of a domino effect,” he said as he pulled out a full bucket of milk and placed it down near the stall door with another. The milk sloshed around, some of it spilling over the lip. “By day eight, the first police officer was killed in a looting spree. It got worse after that.”

  “But isn’t there a sheriff’s department for the county?”

  “There is, except they have their hands full. Merced is a big county. Look…”

  He was about to say something when they heard horses approaching. Jeb jerked his head toward the barn doors. “Stay here.” He walked to the far end and within seconds came hurrying back. “Follow me, quickly.”

  “What is it?”

  “No time to explain, just go up to the second level, get down behind the haystacks. Whatever happens, no matter what you hear, don’t come out. You understand?”

  Colby nodded and climbed the ladder. The second floor gave him a good view of the barn, the cows, a few horses in stalls, and Jeb waving for him to get down.

  “Jebediah!” a gruff voice bellowed from outside.

  Colby stayed low and approached a barn door that was opened to load hay into the upper level. He cracked it open ever so slightly to get a look at who was outside. There were three men on horses. Ragged in appearance. Dirty looking. Gaunt faces. They looked like the homeless, except for the AR-15s strapped to their back. Jeb came out and crossed the short distance, cleaning his hands with a rag he’d taken out of his back pocket.

  “How can I help you, gents?”

  “Where is he?”

  “Where’s who?”

  “Don’t be coy with us. You know.”

  There was a pause. Jeb shifted from one foot to the next. “You’ll need to be more specific.”

  The man got down off the horse. He had a thick goatee, and blond hair, he was around five foot nine and sporting a circular burn on the left side of his face as if someone had pressed his face against a stove. He removed his AR-15 and thrust the butt of it into Jeb’s face, causing him to crumple. “Is that specific enough?” He loomed over him as Jeb cupped the rag over his bloody nose. “Now answer the question.”

  “All right. All right.” Jeb raised a defensive hand. “I buried him. Okay?”

  “Really? I want to see that burial ground.”

  “It’s out in the field. Nothing more than a pile of dirt. Nothing to see.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that. Get up.”

  Jeb gave a nod, then goatee turned and pointed to the other two. “Gather what we need and once Jeb shows me the body, we’ll be on our way.”

  The other two rode over to the field where the horses were.

  “Hey, hold on a minute, you can’t take those horses.”

  “We can take whatever the hell we like. You know the agreement.”

  “I don’t have an agreement.”

  “Just because you don’t agree, it doesn’t mean Spider hasn’t got one. We’re taking the horses. Now is that going to be a problem?”

  Jeb stumbled forward, clutching his face. “Please. That’s my livelihood.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Look, you can’t…”

  Before he could get the words out, the guy spun around and backhanded him to the ground. “You were about to say?” He loomed over him. “Now get up, old man, and take me to this grave.”

  Colby felt compelled to help but how? They were armed, he wasn’t. His mind was still grappling with waking up to a world where he didn’t even know who he was or why or how he’d ended up here. One thing was sure though, these men knew someone called Spider. He watched as the man led Jeb toward the field while the others collected the horses. He wanted to intervene, to help Jeb, but he was outnumbered. He certainly didn’t want to make it any worse for his family.

  A scream echoed. His eyes darted to the farmhouse. The door to the house opened, and Jenna was dragged out, kicking and screaming. A fourth guy had his horse tied up outside the house.

  “Let her go. Stop!”

  Carol pounded the guy’s back with open hands.

  “Get the hell back, woman.”

  The guy swatted her like a fly.

  Colby had enough.

  He got up and made his way to the far end and climbed down. On his way out, he eyed a pitchfork. He scooped it up and exited the rear double doors to avoid being seen by those who were getting horses. He hurried at a crouch over to the house as Carol continued to intervene, preventing the guy from taking Jenna.

  That woman had no quit in her.

  “I’m warning you, bitch. Back off!”

  “She’s just a kid.”

  “A kid that can be used.”

  Colby skirted around the back of the house until he was on the west side, and the man was on the south. He slid up beside the house, his back pressed against it, and peered around the corner. The guy had already tied Jenna’s wrists to a rope that was wound around his horse’s saddle. “Get off me, woman!” He lashed out, harder this time, striking her with such force that he knocked her out. As he loomed over her, Colby crept up behind him. He was only going to knock the guy out but the crunching of gravel gave him away. Before Carol’s attacker could get his finger on the trigger of his rifle, Colby drove the
pitchfork deep into his gut.

  The man’s eyes bulged.

  His mouth went wide.

  He dropped the rifle and blood oozed out as he gripped his stomach. Jenna looked on in horror as Colby extracted the pitchfork and the man fell face forward.

  Without wasting a second, he untied Jenna and told her to hide. She darted around to the west side of the house, got on her knees, then went into the crawl space below the house and shifted a piece of lattice back into place.

  With her safe and out of sight, he dragged the dead man over to some bushes and covered his body with fallen branches. It was just timing. He couldn’t have one of them finding him before he was able to help Carol.

  Making his way back to her, he touched her cheek.

  “Carol. Hey. Wake up.”

  She stirred, groaning.

  In an instant, her hand lashed out and he grabbed it. “It’s me.”

  Fear masked her expression. “What? Where’s Jenna?”

  “She’s safe but you need to get out of here.”

  She looked toward the horse and saw a trail of blood. “What have you done? What have you done?”

  “Just get out of here now,” he said, scooping up the man’s AR-15.

  Strangely, it felt comfortable in his hands. Familiar. He ejected the magazine, checked it, then inserted it and made sure there was a round in the chamber. His ease of knowing how to use it made him wonder who he’d been before this, and what else he knew. It was like muscle memory functioned differently from what his mind could recollect. It was ingrained, natural.

  Carol placed a hand on him. “Don’t. No. Don’t do this.”

  “It’s a little late for that now,” he said. She stared and the realization that the man was dead sank in. Colby made his way around to the barn and saw the two men busy collecting four horses. They were oblivious to their friend’s demise. They were shooting the shit, laughing, and had no idea he was approaching. Dropping to a knee, he positioned himself at the corner of the barn for cover and brought up the rifle. He got one of the men in his scope. A second or two of waiting until the other turned away and then he squeezed the trigger.