Lucy seemed to be absorbing what I was saying, but whether she would do anything was another matter entirely. She quickly grew tired of the doom and gloom conversation and went on to talk about her frustration at not being able to access some of her favorite websites. That led to other topics, and while I was happy to listen to her voice, I realized I missed my talks with Nancy.
Mike returned with Mitch about four p.m. and they were alone in the truck cab. Apparently, while the hospital in Woodville was still overrun with treating the medical problems of those displaced by the hurricane, the emergency room treated gunshot victims as a priority.
As Mitch went in to check on his family, Mike didn’t linger on the front porch as he led me to my truck, eager to get back on our way. Leaving the AR on the porch for the family like I’d promised, I made sure the Dan Wesson revolver was fitted smoothly at my hip.
“You keeping that?”
“Seems somehow appropriate,” I replied vaguely. I’d only found ten more rounds for the thing, but I had plenty back home.
I tried to pump him on the details, but Mike put me off with a muttered admonition.
“We’ll talk on the road.”
Something was bothering Mike, but I was willing to wait. I drove back out down the gravel road, turned onto the narrow highway, and headed back on our intended route. Mike rode with his rifle in his lap, window rolled down despite the spitting rain. He kept his silence until we were halfway to Spurger.
“Mitch’s family will be okay. I heard him talking to a nurse in the ER, and her wound was bloody but the bullet missed any organs. His uncle just had a scrape, so nothing too severe.”
“That’s good, but what has your panties in a knot?”
“While I was waiting for Mitch, I had a chance to chat with a couple of deputies. The sheriff has that hospital locked down tight, so they’re out in force. After Mitch vouched for me, they took my statement, but I doubt I’ll ever hear anything more about it. There’s just too many other instances for the moment.”
“That bad?”
Mitch sighed. “We were worried about the displaced in the refugee camps rioting, but the ones who self-extracted are turning out to be the bigger threat. They’ve got no place to live and little to eat, but a lot of them have their guns and a willingness to use them. The common theory is we ran into one of the better organized bands, and they have a base of operation set up somewhere in the area. Seems they’ve been making a habit of moving in on isolated homes in the country, killing the occupants, and taking over.”
“That’s not scary at all,” I lied. Something like that was our worst-case scenario at the farm. I started thinking about ways we could beef up our security, and I remembered Nancy’s class on boobytraps. Those were going to get a bit of field testing earlier than I thought.
“Hey, we did a good thing today,” Mike interjected, sensing my souring mood.
“That sounds almost noble,” I replied with some snark. “Now, what’re you going to tell Marta when we get home? About letting yourself get sucked back into a shooting scuffle. Again.”
“Sergeant Shultz defense?” Mike suggested.
“Yeah,” I agreed, “I know nothing either. Think she’ll notice the extra bullet holes in my truck?”
“Nah, this thing is always dirty anyway. We’ll just patch over with some Bondo.”
“Was dirty,” I corrected. “Now the exterior is as clean as a whistle. All this rain is going to put the car washes out of business.”
“Not much business getting done now anyway.” Mike pointed out. “I didn’t see a single store open in Woodville when we drove through. You saw the gas station back in Fred is closed down, and looks like it happened before the storm.”
“Where are people getting gas then?”
“I only saw one gas station open when we came through Spurger earlier, and then there was one still open in Woodville that I saw. Both had armed guards. A lot of them. They didn’t have their prices posted, and I didn’t stop to ask.”
Thinking about that, I turned on the radio and Mike took over, scanning through the AM band in hopes of getting some news. He finally settled on a station out of Buffalo, the one in Texas, not New York, and we listened in to the local weather advisories. Apparently, they were suffering with a new bridge closure and one lane shut down on the I-45 route to Dallas, since the rain had undermined a part of the highway already under repair.
I closed my eyes for a moment. Any road closures on that critical supply artery would have a massive negative impact on the already faltering economy. Focusing back on the road, I wondered for the thousandth time when this infernal rain would end.
“Think they’ll make it?” I finally asked.
“Who’s that?”
“Mitch and his people,” I explained. “I talked to his sister Lucy a lot about stocking up, but I don’t think they have the money to do it. I got the impression Mitch was living paycheck to paycheck, and I know flight attendants don’t make all that much.”
“Yeah, Mitch works in the oil patch, and hasn’t been called back since this all started. Who’s the flight attendant?”
“Lucy,” I said.
Mike exhaled through his teeth, giving a short whistle.
“No, I don’t think they will,” Mike finally pronounced. “They’re hemmed in by these raiders and I don’t think they’ll survive the winter. But I could be wrong.”
I wanted him to be, but in my heart, I knew he wasn’t.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Mike and I spent the rest of the trip back comparing notes on the ‘fight in Fred’, as we began calling it. Mike had wisely tried to keep the fight at a distance, relying on the penetrating power of his AR-10. The sheet metal of the truck doors might have stymied a lighter round, but the 7.62x51mm bullet had punched through like a freight train. I admitted the Marlin turned out to be the wrong tool for the job, and when I explained my reasoning, Mike grunted before giving his short answer.
“Not giving them up next time,” he said, and I nodded at the idea. That meant either the situation would have devolved into chaos, or we would be fighting the deputies themselves. Probably both, I realized.
Despite our joking about denying everything, Mike and I explained what had happened to Pat and Nikki as soon as we reached home. Well, after we both took showers. Mike wasn’t so bad, but after rolling around in the muck followed by wrestling with the dead bodies, I could smell my own stink. Have to air out the Datsun, I resolved, but we’d wait for the rain to stop.
Marta wasn’t home from work yet, and we needed to let everyone involved in security know about the added dangers. Hearing about widespread dangers was one thing, but seeing it with our own eyes made for a different perspective.
“We’ll need to up your training,” Pat said, and I could tell he didn’t mean working on our first aid skills. We were seated in the kitchen, and I was surprised to see Nancy come in to join the discussion. I’d figured she would still be at work, but when I gave her a questioning look, she shook her head.
“Sent us home early,” she explained, as if reading my mind. “Walt said they managed to track down more transformers, but we won’t get them until next week. So, I’m off until Monday.”
That stumped me for a moment, and Nikki laughed at my expression.
“It’s Thursday, Bryan.”
“We need to sit down with Wade and make some additional plans. What’s the status on the rebuilding over at the Bonner place?” I asked, thinking about our crowded state.
“Windows are fixed, and we’ve got the wind turbine in place to run the water pump, but that’s about all we can do there for power. Going to be kerosene lanterns and heating with wood. At least we could fit the stack from the wood stove up the chimney,” Charles reported. He’d taken point on the project, while working with a small crew consisting of Mary, Billy, and Sally. He’d still heard nothing from his employer, and his house remained inaccessible inside the mandatory evacuation zone.
; “I feel really uncomfortable splitting our forces,” Pat began, “but I see the long-term need. I think we can remove some of the danger there if we pull that entrance completely. We can dig up that culvert, and reinforce the barbed wire across that ditch. Redirect all traffic to the main house.”
“Yeah, there’s a need for the space. It would be nice to have that house occupied, and it would make a good location if we set the greenhouse in that clearing,” I chimed in, giving Mike a speculative look. He just shook his head, but gave me a finger wag.
“I’m still researching the question, Bryan. There’s a kind of cement fixative that can be used. It’s a common enough additive for Portland cement, so we got you covered.”
“Fair enough. Find someone within fifty miles that has some in stock, and we’ll see if we can lay hands on a few bags. Or more than a few.”
“That’s all well and good, but tell us about this shootout, please,” Nancy asked, sauntering up to claim a seat at the table.
“What shootout?”
Marta asked, walking into the kitchen wearing her scrubs and lugging her lunchbox. Since the cafeteria in the hospital stopped serving meals, Marta had taken to bringing her lunch. She looked dead on her feet, and Mike rushed over to guide her to a chair while I hurried to fix her a plate of lasagna and a pair of breadsticks.
“Mmm. Mom’s recipe,” Marta murmured, eventually pausing to speak. With Marta’s arrival, the meeting had been temporarily postponed and the parties dispersed for the moment.
“Yeah, Bea made this earlier. Hard day?” Mike asked. His concern was evident as he mother-henned his wife.
“Crazy day. On top of all the sick people streaming into the ER, we ended up with half a dozen gunshot wounds needing surgery. That’s why we were late getting home, with Dorothy tied up in the front, and me working the surgical out back. Dr. Simmons wanted us to pull another double, but I just wasn’t up to it today.” Marta ended with a shiver at the thought.
“I’m sorry, hon. They still got security around the hospital?”
Marta wrinkled her nose.
“They’re still there. Plus the National Guard. Not like they do much except stand like statutes around the pharmacy.”
I had to laugh at that.
“That’s where they figure to find all the action,” I said with a snort. “How was Dorothy?”
“Like me,” Marta replied. “Tired out. I was afraid she was going to fall asleep driving home. The crappy roads didn’t help any.”
“Why don’t you finish up dinner and go grab a shower?” Mike suggested, clearly worried about her exhaustion.
“I will, but first I want to hear about this shootout you mentioned,” Marta replied, an edge to her voice.
“And I’ll leave you to it,” I inserted, not wanting to get involved in that explanation. Leaning over, I gave Marta a kiss on the top of her head and headed for the door. Wandering to the front porch, I sat with a cup of coffee in hand and stared out at the drowned front yard. The rain had finally abated, and I wondered if we would finally see some sunshine in the coming weeks.
My thoughts went back to Mitch, and his family south of Fred. And Lucy.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Nancy said, and when I looked up I tried to mask the emotions on my face. She must have gained some experience reading my moods, as she said no more and instead took a seat in the other rocker. After a few minutes, she tried again.
“Was it bad this time? I only heard that there was a fight on your trip back,” she explained, her eyes searching my face again.
“First part was easy,” I started, then stopped. “You know Mike, he has that hero gene that makes him willing to play the Good Samaritan. Five guys trying to take over a house. We just happened upon it at the right time. They didn’t even have any rear security deployed. Like fish in a barrel.”
“Well, that’s a good thing, right?”
I nodded, my mind going back.
“When reinforcements came, it got hairy.”
Nancy continued watching me, her eyes going wide.
“Neither one of you looks injured, so I don’t need to hear the rest of the story,” she concluded, looking away. She seemed to be wrestling with some emotion, but I couldn’t figure out the angle.
“No, we both came out uninjured. But it was close. So damned close.”
“Is that what’s bothering you?”
I nodded before answering.
“Part of it,” I admitted. “If the guy had one more round in his gun, I wouldn’t be here. But I was also thinking about the people we saved.”
“Still worried about them?”
Her insight stunned me, and I sat quiet for a second to process.
“Yeah, that too. When we were driving back, Mike and I talked about it. Neither one of us thinks they’ll survive ‘til spring. So, thinking about that.”
“Sometimes things happen, no matter what you do or how hard you try, Bryan. I think Mike isn’t the only one trying to save everybody.”
That comment elicited a grunt from me, but then I resolved to change the subject.
“How are things with the Co-Op? Walt really did us a solid buying those trees from us like that.”
“Pretty good, for the time being,” Nancy said, then sighed. “Folks are pretty mad they haven’t got power back on everywhere, but heck, I understand it took at least this long last time, and we didn’t have these other disasters piled on top of everything else.”
“Where’s Mini-Me?”
“Lisa?” Nancy asked with a surprised laugh. “She’s with Sally and Beatrice, I think. They were working in the greenhouse when I got in. I was just about to head that way. Apparently, Bea said they have some sprouts coming in already, and she wanted some willing hands.”
“That’s good. We were just talking about getting the other one up, but I’m worried about another storm rolling through. We dodged a bullet with Debbie, but another could wreck everything.”
Nancy looked at me hard yet again, her blue eyes once again boring into me, as if reading my soul.
“Bryan, you’re one of the bravest men I know, but you must not take counsel of your fears for the future. Yes, erecting the new greenhouse is a risk, but sometimes you have to take a chance on things. Take the chance, Bryan.”
With that, Nancy rose regally, like a queen exiting her throne, and she left me on the porch to reenter the house. I sat there in stunned silence, considering her words. And her meaning.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The next day dawned cool and clear, and for once, not a cloud in the sky. I was up earlier, taking a few hours on the radio to gather what information I could regarding the state of the nation. I’d relieved Mary from overnight watch on the cameras at around six in the morning, sending her off to bed and switching the feeds from the basement security center to my office upstairs. I could watch the screens while listening to the radios.
What I heard didn’t exactly fill me with confidence, and I was busy scratching out my notes for later transcription to a Word document. I wanted to be able to pass this on later.
Some of the sources I listened to were the usual ‘what I see outside my window’ reports that HAM operators seemed to enjoy. Flooding in Little Rock, levee failures in communities along the Mississippi River, and power fluctuations in the major metropolitan areas back east. Fortunately, the rainfall seemed to be less in the northern latitudes, which the national media made sure to trumpet.
What the national media failed to report, but which I heard from several third-hand accounts over the HAM radio, was the tale of snow flurries overnight in Saratoga, New York. None of it stuck, and the icy patches left behind immediately melted away once day came, but the ill-fortuned event still served as a warning for things to come. I’d been in that part of the country before, and despite a few cool mornings in September, this was unheard of. They’d never experienced snow this early, not when it was still late August. We were still technically in summer, with fall several weeks away
. I made sure to note as much detail as I could about this phenomenon, and I kept my ears open for any other such tidbits.
From the back end of the national news report, I heard stories about the marriage breakup of a celebrity couple who gained their fifteen minutes of fame for being on a reality TV series I’d never heard of, and a story about proposed realignment of the teams in various sports as they prepared to go forward. The NFL was even talking about possibly resuming games in just a few weeks. I wondered idly where they would play, since most of the large stadiums across the country had been commandeered by the local or state governments to serve as temporary refuges for the various displaced citizens. Maybe use a local high school stadium and return to playing on real grass. Well, except in Texas, where even the bigger high school teams played on turf. No mention of the teams based on the West Coast, but I did get to hear about how the Patriots were picked to win whatever would now pass for the Superbowl after having picked up some unexpected free agents from certain ‘non-viable’ teams.
Ominously, I heard no mention of China or Russia, and the recent nuclear exchange appeared to have fallen off the national radar. Maybe I’d missed that part of the program. Or the censors had deemed the topic off-limits.
Locally, the news was little better. None of the media outlets located in Houston or the Beaumont area were back in service, so any reporting came from either Dallas, San Antonio, or Austin. Whatever FCC gag order muted the national newscasters seemed to have influence, if not outright control, over the local network affiliates, and each seemed to be influenced by their own biases. Austin was the most strictly controlled, it seemed, with nonstop coverage of the hurricane recovery efforts and stories of selfless acts by compassionate citizens to alleviate the suffering of the displaced.
From the two remaining San Antonio stations, which I could listen to over the radio even though they were outside our television broadcast range, I heard little about the storm damage and much about the continued fighting taking place in and around the city. The National Guard was out in full force south of the city and in a line all the way down to the Mexican border, and yet the rioting and killings had barely abated. In fact, the newsreaders seemed to revel in the acts of terror and retribution as they recited the latest casualty figures with apparent glee. Half the time, I couldn’t tell who they were rooting for, but the old newspaper saying about ‘If it bleeds, it leads’ was proven correct once again. Clearly, Pat and Nikki were right to get out from that area, and I wondered just how much of that violence was actually splashing over onto the state capital just up the road a piece.
Tertiary Effects Series | Book 2 | Storm Warning Page 14
