Doc Marty cast a glance at his daughter. "That’s hard to say. We have no itinerary. We have nowhere else to be. We may be here a while. If you take us in, you do so with the understanding that we could be here until this mess blows over."
"If it blows over," Barb said. “No guarantee of that.”
“The rest of the world hasn’t gone to shit with us,” Doc Marty said. “Things will level out eventually. When that happens, Shannon and I will clear out to our next area of operation.”
“If you live that long,” Conor said. “I have a long memory and I hold grudges.”
9
The sun hadn’t yet risen when Bryan Padowicz awoke at a highway rest area along the interstate. His men had taken shelter beneath metal canopies suspended over picnic tables. They’d kept watch all night, a single man that rotated out every two hours. Seeing Bryan stir, the guard nodded good morning at him. Bryan didn’t acknowledge the greeting.
After obtaining the first two recruits for his army, teenage boys who had been fishing with their family, Bryan's team found no one else until the end of the day. They were looking for a place to spend the night when a campfire at the rest area drew their attention. Bryan left his entourage behind and rode forward with one other man, where he found a group of truck drivers who had been living at the rest area since the collapse.
One of the truckers had been delivering palletized canned goods between a distribution warehouse and a chain of grocery stores. As long as they could keep the cans from freezing over the winter they could potentially have years of food for a group their size. The truckers had been living comfortably out of those pallets of food since the collapse.
Like a lot of truckers, they traveled armed for their own safety and had been successful in fending off anyone trying to approach the rest area. Upon seeing Bryan and his rider approach, the truckers stood and raised weapons. Bryan raised his hands and prompted his companion to do the same.
"This here rest area is taken," one of the truckers barked. "Move along or we’ll shoot."
"I don't want anything but information," Bryan said. "I'm looking for some missing men."
“There’s going to be two more men missing if you all don’t get the hell out of here,” the trucker said.
"How many men you looking for?" one of the other truckers asked.
"Around two dozen. They would have come this way on horseback, leading a string of pack horses. We have a farm up the road a good bit. Those men left out of there a couple of weeks ago and haven't come back."
The truckers looked at each other and exchanged some low words Bryan couldn't hear. Finally, one of the men spoke up.
"We seen some fellers like that, but like you said, it's been a couple weeks ago. They went by here and never said a word to us. They ain’t come back this way either. We’d have noticed.”
It was news Bryan had expected. Whatever had happened to them had happened further away than this. "May I approach your fire?"
"What for?" one of the truckers grumbled.
"I'd like to speak to you for a moment."
The truckers conferred with each other but it did not appear there was a consensus. Low voices argued.
"Alright, you can come over here, but if you try anything funny we’ll kill you without so much as a warning. If you got any doubts as to my sincerity, you go to the far side the road and look over the bank. You'll find the remains of men who didn't take us seriously."
Bryan found it significant that these men had not moved on. When the collapse stuck the truckers at this rest area, they had remained. Did it mean these misplaced and lost stragglers had nowhere to go? Did they have no families or homes or people waiting on them elsewhere in the world? If that was the case, perhaps that created an opening for him, a starting point around which to form an invitation to join his crusade.
"Why haven’t you folks moved on? Most people stuck along the highways had somewhere else they needed to be. I think you're the only folks I've seen that approached the situation with the attitude that where they landed was as good a spot as any and they might as well stay there.”
“Maybe that’s none of your business,” said a freckled, red-haired woman in a down jacket.
“I’m not prying for information. It wasn’t even a question. But I take your remaining here to mean that you must have food and water available to you. Clearly you’re surviving somehow. Would you continue to choose mere subsistence and survival if someone came along and offered you the opportunity to thrive in this environment? To build a new life for yourself that could offer rewards that continued to benefit you even after the world righted itself?"
The group looked skeptical. They looked from one to another with tired expressions. The man spoke like an infomercial. Bryan could tell that some would prefer to just kill him, get him out of the way, and get back to their evening.
"Sounds like a load of bullshit to me,” one of the men spoke up. “This is just another asshole trying to talk us out of our food. I’d just as soon kill him as listen to him talk."
Bryan nodded, conceding the point. "That’s fair and I understand your reaction. You don't have to take my word for it. I've got a group of men back there waiting on the road. Any one of them could tell you we had a good thing going on. We have a farm in the mountains. Thousands of acres. Bringing our vision to life took a lot of warm bodies, so I sent a group of men out to recruit more women to work on the farm. Those men haven’t come back. I've been forced to take what men I have left and head out on a mission to find them. We plan to either return and rebuild our camp, or find a new place that’s even better. I can't do it without more men, so our current mission is not just one of recovery but one of recruitment."
"What's in it for us?" asked a bearded trucker in an army field jacket. He held a shotgun across the front of his body, his finger resting right on the trigger. “Is this about building something nice for you or something nice for all of us? Because I’m not sure why I would want to help you. You’re a bit mouthy.”
Bryan cocked his head and held out a finger as if he were lecturing a group of students. "I'll be honest with you. Most of what I have to offer is a lot of hard work in the beginning. We have greenhouses for growing crops year round, all of it powered by solar energy and wood heat. We had crops on the way, nearly ready to harvest, but we were attacked and our crops were destroyed because I didn’t have enough men available to guard the place. I had a plan for raising enough food to sell to local communities. Every man who comes with me is entitled to a share. This is not an operation for families. I'm looking for individual men willing to work hard and able to make tough decisions. I’m looking for men who are up for being wealthy when the world gets back to normal. Any of this sound appealing to you guys or should I just ride on out of here?"
The oldest of the truckers, painfully thin and wearing a cowboy hat, shook his head and spat on the ground. “I ain't a bit interested in traipsing around the country. I got bad legs from sitting in that truck all these years. My blood pressure is high and my heart don't do what it's supposed to half the time. I'm just going to sit this one out, boys. If you want to go, you're welcome to it. I’ll be fine right here."
"What about us?" the red-headed woman asked.
Bryan shook his head. "I got no place for women. They don’t do anything but stir up trouble."
The old man cackled like Bryan had just stirred a hornet’s nest.
The woman looked offended. “You’re lucky I don’t blow your damn head off. What kind of sexist bullshit is that? I can do anything a man can do. Ask any of these guys.”
"I don’t give a shit what you can do," Bryan said. "The rules are different now in that there are no rules. A man can be as sexist or racist, as biased and bigoted as he wants. Of course, that comes with the risk that someone who doesn’t care for your attitude might kill you.”
That comment was a bad choice on Bryan’s part. The woman drew a large revolver and leveled it at Bryan’s chest. “My thoughts exactly. I’m one of t
hose people who don’t care for your attitude and I’m fixing to kill you.”
The bearded trucker gestured at the pistol-wielding woman. “Hold on just one second, Carrie.” He addressed Bryan. “Your offer is intriguing. I’m used to life on the road and I’m getting a little restless being stuck here in one place for so long. I can’t speak for these other guys but I’m sure some of them probably feel the same. But if we go, she goes.”
Bryan studied the bearded trucker, then moved his eyes back to the redhead. “Can you make tough calls? I can’t take people who are going to get all soft over spilling a little blood.”
The woman returned the gun to her pocket. “When I was twelve, I killed my daddy for beating my mother. He didn’t think I’d do it but I got the last laugh. How’s that for making a tough call?”
Bryan conceded the point. “Welcome to the team.”
The red-headed trucker turned to the other woman in the group, fiftyish and overweight. “You going with us?”
The woman shook her head and looked at the older, scrawny trucker. “Nah, I’m staying with Bert. You all go on without us.”
“Then let’s split this food up tonight,” the bearded trucker said. “Everyone will need as much as they can carry. We’ll leave the rest in your care, Bert. I hope if this endeavor doesn’t work out, we can come back and join you.”
The old trucker smiled. “I was a hundred and eight pounds last time I weighed. I ain’t sure I’ve lost any weight but I sure as hell haven’t gained any. I ain’t likely to take a notion to plump up and eat it all.”
The bearded trucker nodded at his buddy. “If you do take a notion, have at it. You could use more meat on your bones.”
By daylight, breakfast was cooking and men were packing gear. The truckers contributed some canned sausage, canned gravy, and powdered milk to the breakfast. Everyone ate well enough that they questioned the ability of the horses to even carry them.
The work of packing continued through the meal. Bryan had spare horses and tack but they had more canned food than even the chuck wagon could carry. They needed more saddle bags. The bearded man, whom they now knew as Zach, walked the parking lot of the rest area until he found a Subaru with aftermarket seat covers. He peeled them off to find that they were basically nothing more than two stretchy sacks. When bound together at the top, they could hang over a horse’s back just like saddle bags.
When Zach was able to make his set work, everyone else went on a search for more seat covers. They used their knives to remove the seat belts from cars, the strong webbing making a good material for strapping the seat covers together. Each set of bags was filled with an assortment of canned food from the grocery truck. Human nature was such that they overfilled the bags and there was concern that they might break from the weight or slow the horses.
“That’s my problem,” Zach said. “If they break, we’ll fix them.”
“Good enough,” Bryan said. “But let’s be clear that there’s only one leader on this journey. By agreeing to be part of it, you also agree that I am in charge. The final decisions are mine. The penalty for not following orders is death.”
The mood of the group changed at hearing that. It broke the sense of camaraderie with the suddenness of an icy plunge into a river. All of Bryan’s existing party knew the rules. The new people, the truckers, understood that Bryan was serious and intense but perhaps hadn’t grasped how serious and intense.
“Can you live with that?” Bryan asked. “Now is the time to decide.”
Zach threw a look at his companions, the four men and one woman who chose to join him. They exchanged looks and subtle nods. They wanted the change. They wanted the opportunity. Though they’d all been equals at the rest area, it seemed they were making Zach the leader of their small group, or at least appointing him as the intermediary between them and Bryan’s group.
“We’re in,” Zach said. “We understand.”
Bryan smiled. “Good. Welcome aboard. Let’s ride.”
The truckers waved back at Bert and his female companion.
“You think he can defend that place?” Bryan asked Zach. “I’m sure it was easier with the rest of you there. More guns and manpower.”
“It’s a risk,” Zach said. “He’s mean enough, but with just two of them it will be hard to post a guard every night. They won’t want to do that. They’ll get slack about security. Hard to say how long they’ll make it. They might still be here if we pass back through and they might not.”
“He’s not fit for travel?”
“Nah, got health problems. He was fine in a truck but he couldn’t handle what we’re setting out on. We’d end up leaving him on the side of the road somewhere. It’s best he stay where he’s got resources.”
Bryan nodded. “There’s something else I want to make you aware of. If we find that my men were killed, I’m going to track down the people that did it and lay waste to them. I’m building an army for that purpose. Some of my recruitment techniques may seem harsh but that’s how it is. I’ll ask that you just go with the flow.”
Zach was silent for a moment, the only sound that of creaking leather and clattering hooves. “We’re big boys, he said eventually. “If we find it not to our liking, we’ll pack our toys and go home.”
“Fair enough,” Bryan said, not sure if he would allow them to leave or not. It was one thing to keep scared boys from running off. It was quite another to attempt to keep men onboard that weren’t scared to fight back. He would have to consider his moves carefully. Each day was a new adventure.
“I’m going to fall back and talk to my own people,” Zach said. “I don’t want them to think that joining up with you guys was all about me. I don’t need them getting the wrong idea.”
Bryan didn’t respond. His mind was elsewhere. As Zach dropped off and waited for his own crew, Bryan’s mind kept returning to the truckload of food and the frail couple guarding it. If they ended up returning to Douthat Farms, that food could provide a good safety net. He’d glimpsed the interior of the trailer. It was forty-two feet deep and the truckers had only eaten their way back a few feet. That food could last him a long time. It would be a shame to let it fall into the wrong hands.
10
Conor settled Doc Marty and Shannon in a secondary office building he’d set up exactly for this purpose. He called it “the bunkhouse.” Over the years he’d lived on the compound, this was where he put up work-related guests. Although he didn’t get many visitors, there were times he built some specialized device and the operator running it required training that only Conor, the designer and builder, could provide.
The bunkhouse was not quite so elaborate as Conor's own living quarters. There was a basic solar system that stored power in an array of marine batteries and powered twelve-volt lighting throughout the small building. There were no receptacles and no inverter to provide AC power.
As a former office building, there was a lobby with a waiting room that was barely larger than the tiny offices. Conor set up the living room with a compact wood stove he’d picked up locally. There was a bathroom, a kitchenette, and a half-dozen offices that had been converted to bedrooms. Three offices were empty for folks who brought their own cots. The other three had built-in bunk beds that allowed four people to cram into each room. Some of the bunks had mattresses, others did not. Conor picked them up when he saw them available at yard sales, as long as they didn’t have those billowy yellow blooms of urine stains. The bathroom and the kitchen had running water from an elevated tank nearby. There was no hot water, nor did any of the appliances in the kitchen work without grid power.
After the quick tour, Doc Marty did not seem concerned. If Shannon was flipping out, she hid it well. Conor had known Doc for years and knew the man had seen much worse conditions. In fact, the two of them had shared worse conditions on numerous occasions. The bunkhouse beat muddy jungle, caves, spider and snake infested drain pipes, and any number of shitty conditions the two had seen over the years.
/> Despite that bond, Conor was still pissed at the man. Had Shannon not been with him Conor might have made him sleep in the shipping container or one of the unheated shop buildings. They had been close friends at one point, their friendship forged by hardship, dangerous conditions, and the type of operations that men were never free to speak of in general company. Then Helsinki happened.
"It won’t be so bad after we move our stuff in," Doc Marty told his daughter. "We'll get those recliners in here, set up our bedrooms, and we’ll be fine.
Shannon didn’t look so certain but understood that this was the situation, for better or worse.
"We'll even volunteer the lout there to help you carry gear," Barb said, gesturing to Ragus.
Ragus wasn’t aware that Barb was referring to him as the lout but quickly figured it out. He gave Barb an angry glare, then looked at Doc Marty and Shannon with a wide smile. "I'd be glad to." He shot Barb a look of smug satisfaction, wanting her to be aware that he was a nicer person than she and willing to help out a couple of folks in need.
Barb returned a whatever look.
"I’ll go ahead and get those recliners," Ragus said.
Doc Marty touched his daughter’s shoulder. "How about you give the lad a hand."
Shannon smiled at Ragus. "Sure."
When Ragus and Shannon left the room Doc Marty asked Conor, "So how do we prepare meals here?"
"This kitchen isn’t set up for cooking while the grid is down, unless you use the top of the woodstove. Besides, it’s a more efficient use of resources to cook our meals together. There’s less wasted food that way and we tie up fewer people in the kitchen."
"Excellent," Doc Marty replied. “That’s sound planning.”
Barb cleared her throat. “That doesn’t mean we’re taking you to raise. It means we all contribute to the pot. We all take a turn at the labor. We all damn sure take turns at the cleanup."
"That's completely understood,” the Doc said, then to Conor, “Your daughter clearly gets her…efficiency in planning…from you.”
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