by Bobby Akart
“Nobody,” he replied. “Because I released them all.”
“Oh?” questioned Hunter.
“Wait. No, not here. This may have been cruel and unusual punishment, but I figured I was commuting their sentences, so it didn’t matter.”
Tommy looked concerned. “Did you shoot ’em all, Terry?”
“Come on, Tommy. Be serious. If I had any bad ones, I might have though. Nah, as we put together our blockade plan, I had the boys drive ’em down to Denver and let ’em loose. I took the two juvies back up to Red Mountain. We didn’t have the manpower to close off the town and man the jail at the same time.”
“How’s that going, by the way?” asked Hunter.
Sheriff Andrews checked his watch. Hunter didn’t want to impose, but it would be good to know if the guarded roadblocks were still in place.
“Very good, in fact. Setting them up early was the key. I have volunteers, now deputized, that assist. We could use a hand with the south side of town if you fellas have some extra time.”
“Sure,” Hunter said, not really meaning it. “As soon as Tommy heals up. It might be a week or so.”
“I’ll take what I can get,” said Sheriff Andrews. “The CHP has closed the Eisenhower Tunnel as of yesterday. We had a stream of folks fleeing California and Vegas, headed toward our neck of the woods. They’ll have a devil of a time getting across the Continental Divide. I hear the western slopes are inundated with travelers, many of whom are sick.”
The Eisenhower Tunnel was just west of Dillon and Breckenridge at Loveland Pass. A high mountain pass at nearly twelve thousand feet, Loveland marked the boundary along the Continental Divide between the eastern and western United States.
To allow for the ease of travel across the divide, the Eisenhower Tunnel was opened in 1973, allowing vehicles on Interstate 70 to pass directly through the mountain. Nearly two miles long, the tunnel had height and hazardous material restrictions. Truckers were forced to take a smaller highway located nearly a thousand feet above the Eisenhower Tunnel. A major east-west thoroughfare, the closing of the tunnel along I-70 would provide Breckenridge an extra layer of protection against outsiders.
“Terry, we found the body of a hiker up the mountain from the trailhead,” started Tommy. “We couldn’t find any identification on him and he appeared to have been dead for several days, so he was visually unidentifiable.”
“Do you think foul play was involved?” asked Sheriff Andrews.
“No,” replied Tommy. “It looks like he slipped and fell over a thirty-foot cliff. His body was badly broken and, of course, the animals got to him.”
“Has there been a missing persons report filed for a young man in his twenties or thirties?” asked Hunter.
“Oh, sure,” Sheriff Andrews replied with a sigh. “Before the phone lines went down around the country, I was receiving a dozen calls a day asking us to check on a visitor from out of state on vacation. We didn’t have the manpower to look for missing tourists much less our own.”
Tommy asked, “You mean locals are missing, too?”
“At first, I didn’t make much of it because folks go out of town in the summer or into Denver,” replied the sheriff. “You guys may not have heard, but the inmates are running the asylum down there. The military has pulled out and retreated to Colorado Springs. Their law enforcement has been decimated by death and defection. Listen, if I had my own to protect, I’d consider doing it as well. I have the missus working with me, so we’re always together.”
“Sheriff, what about the local missing persons? Is there any discernible pattern to their disappearance? You know, certain parts of town or neighborhoods.”
The sheriff studied Hunter before he answered. “Quite a few down around Baldy Road where Boreas Pass Road comes down out of the mountains. Why do you ask?”
“All infectious disease outbreaks begin with a patient zero, that one poor soul who passes the disease on to others. I was trying to determine if there was a pattern of missing persons from a particular neighborhood. It might be an indicator you have a plague outbreak within the community.”
“I see what you mean, Hunter,” added Tommy. “Look here, Terry. This disease takes no prisoners. In fact, you really should be wearing a mask and gloves like we are. Just to be safe.”
“Yeah, I’ve got them in the patrol car,” said Sheriff Andrews. “Listen, I appreciate the heads-up. I’ll have my wife review the reports again to look for a pattern. By the way, you folks have two-way radios up there?”
“Yes, we do, brand new, in fact. I need to break them out of the box,” replied Hunter.
Sheriff Andrews pulled a small notebook out of his shirt pocket and began to scribble some numbers on a blank page. “We’ve got a repeater tower right down Blue Lakes Road on Doc Cooley’s side of Red Mountain. You should have pretty good reception. Our main frequencies are 154.4000 and 155.58000. Our car-to-car frequency is 154.78500.”
“We don’t have a ham radio license, Terry,” said Tommy.
“With all your murder warrants, that’s the least of your trouble, old friend. Now listen, I’ve got to skedaddle. Let me know when you can take a few shifts down Route 9 near Timber Ridge. If I can’t get some help, we’re gonna have to pull the checkpoint closer to town.”
Tommy and the sheriff shook hands. Hunter acted like he had his hands full between the car keys and the slip of paper. Sheriff Andrews seemed like a friendly man. Too friendly when every person you met could have the plague.
Chapter 24
Day Fifty-Eight
Deep Roots Gardening Supply
Breckenridge
A few blocks away was the Deep Roots Gardening Supply and it was a happenin’ place. Located in a light industrial complex, the store catered to gardeners of all levels, including those who were into hydroponics. The company had a large selection of lights, indoor grow soil, materials to build a small greenhouse, and cannabis seeds. The locals were preparing for winter and the apocalypse by loading up on the Deep Roots’ proprietary seed—the Barberry Brute.
Eight or ten customers milled through the showroom floor as they waited on their seed and fertilizer orders. The Barberry Brute was the favorite of the Breck’s cannabis culture. Known for its increased yields and high resin production, growers were thrilled with the end result—a product with stable, premium genetics enjoyed by novice and experienced ganjapreneurs.
When Tommy approached the counter and asked the clerk what were the best seeds to grow for vegetables at high altitudes, the young man, who appeared to be sampling the product, burst out laughing.
“Dude, have you come to rob the place?” he said, pointing to Tommy’s mask and gloves. For several moments, most of the patrons enjoyed a chuckle at Tommy’s expense.
A couple cowering in the corner asked, “Are you sick?”
“No, we’re not robbers and we’re not sick.” Tommy laughed along with them, all the while mentally chastising the fools because you couldn’t eat marijuana and survive. Eating would be on their mind, however, when the stores ran out of munchies and the Huddle House was closed at three in the morning. Then what, dude?
A young woman emerged from the back of the store and began to dole out the Barberry Brute to her waiting customers. Despite the fact the highly sought after cannabis seed had quadrupled in price and only cash or gold was accepted in payment, the locals snatched up all they could afford.
She came to Tommy’s rescue while new patrons filled the store. “Sir, I’d be glad to help you. My name is Liz. If I understood correctly, you’d actually like to grow something edible. Not mixed in with brownies?”
Tommy studied the girl and sensed she wasn’t happy. “I take it you don’t approve.”
“No, it’s not that, although it gets a little old. It’s a livin’, you know?”
Tommy smiled and replied, “We all gotta pay the bills. Listen, can you help us? I’d like to build a small greenhouse on the southern exposure of my property. I have some flat groun
d that I’d like to till in the spring. The rest, naturally, tilts like a roller coaster.”
“Have you considered a Chinese greenhouse for your winter gardening? It can also be used to start your seeds in the spring.”
“No, I’m not familiar with it. What’s involved?”
“Basically, it’s a simple design. You build a passive solar greenhouse on the southern-facing side of your home, assuming you have lots of sunshine. We have a kit that includes everything you need. Since you’ve been so nice, unlike these potheads rolling in and out of here, I’ll sell it to you at regular price. But no checks or credit cards, okay?”
“Sounds more than fair,” replied Tommy. “Will you also get us a variety of seeds that will work up at the tree line, fertilizers, and soil.”
“I sure will. Also, I have a free guide on high-altitude organic gardening and a laminated hiker’s guide to edible wild plants in the Rockies. They might help you as well.”
Tommy waved Hunter over to speak with the young lady. She was clearly enamored with Hunter’s handsome appearance. Winter was coming and he’d decided to let his beard grow out. During that period between stubble and full beard, Hunter melted women’s hearts.
“Hunter, what types of vegetables would you like this young lady, um, Liz, to pick out for us?”
“Hi, Liz,” he started.
The young girl blushed.
“Let’s focus on root vegetables and spinach if it’ll grow. Plus any types of berries that grow up here.”
“Also, Liz,” added Tommy, “please make sure they’re all heirloom seeds.”
Hunter looked at Tommy and tilted his head. “What? Hairloom?”
“Heirloom. I’ll explain later.”
“Well, okay. I’ll get you started,” said Liz. “In the spring, you can come back and restock.”
“No, actually,” Hunter interrupted before she scampered to the stockroom, “Liz, we’ll buy it all. I’ll take all the seeds you have in stock, okay?”
“Sir, that’ll be over a thousand dollars. Are you sure?”
“I am. We’ll take all of it.”
“Just heirloom, Liz.”
“Got it!”
Tommy wandered toward the checkout counter to wait on their order. He whispered to Hunter, “You gotta bunch of money burning a hole in your pocket?”
“Sort of, but I have a theory. There might come a time when paper money will be worthless as our economy crashes further. Having those seeds may be the most valuable commodity in Summit County, worth far more than marijuana.”
“I thought you mentioned gold would be the new currency?” asked Tommy.
“That, too. I just think being able to grow your own food will be like growing your own money. People need food to survive. You can’t eat gold or dollars or marijuana.”
Chapter 25
Day Fifty-Eight
Cooley Ranch
West face of Red Mountain
Red Mountain rose thirteen thousand feet into the sky on the east side of McCullough Gulch from Quandary Peak. Although an interesting climb for experienced hikers, it had become known as the redheaded stepchild of its more famous neighbor, Quandary Peak. Hikers typically ventured to the top of Red Mountain in order to take pictures of the magnificent views of Quandary to the west.
Hunter and Tommy drove up the long, winding driveway through the pines. Twice, Hunter questioned whether this was the right place as the trees obscured the daylight. Tommy reminded Hunter that Doc had purchased a lot of land back when he hit it big on the poker circuit. He’d had many offers for several million dollars to sell the property for potential condominium developments. The offers were tempting, but Doc didn’t know what he’d do with all that money except go buy another place. He opted to stay, happy with the cards he’d been dealt.
The driveway entered a clearing and their loaded-down Jeep was greeted by two young men with rifles. Hunter slammed on the brakes, causing the Jeep to skid in the gravel. He immediately put his hands on the dash to put the guards at ease. He nodded to Tommy, who also showed his hands to the two men.
Suddenly, from their left, another man emerged with an AK-47 pointed at Hunter’s window. Now he was nervous. His mind raced, considering what evasive maneuvers were available to him. He’d waited too long. Hunter decided to let this play out.
“Hunter, it’s all right. That’s Doc’s son.”
Tommy leaned forward and waved to the third man, attempting to get his attention. Up the incline, Hunter saw a figure emerge from the front door onto the porch.
“Remove your masks so we can see your faces!” demanded one of the men.
Of course, Hunter thought to himself. He and Tommy had grown accustomed to wearing the N95s and had forgotten to take them off. They’re on edge anyway. Our masks didn’t help matters.
“Okay, okay,” said Tommy, who slowly pulled the mask around his neck. He looked to the left to make eye contact with Doc’s son. “It’s me, Tommy Hagan, from over at Quandary Peak. We came up here to see your dad.”
The young man reached to his shoulder and keyed a microphone. He turned away from the Jeep as he spoke. Hunter continued to study the figure on the porch. The silhouette raised an arm and appeared to have a two-way radio. A moment later, the young man was tapping on their window.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hagan. Would you mind rolling down your window?”
Hunter obliged and a handsome young guy in his early twenties greeted them. “Hi, Mr. Hagan. We’re standing watch twenty-four seven now. Dad said y’all can drive on up to the house.”
“Derek, right?” asked Tommy.
“Yes, sir.”
“Derek, this is my daughter’s friend Hunter. He’s good as gold, okay?”
“Nice to meet you, sir,” said Derek.
Sir? How old is he? How old am I? Hunter looked in the rearview mirror to glance at his face.
“Nice to meet you as well, Derek. Say, I noticed you chose the AK. Why not the AR-15?” Hunter wanted to establish a rapport with the young man, seeking common ground by discussing weaponry.
“Truthfully, Dad and them got a good deal a few years ago. I like it because it’s durable and reliable. It rarely jams. We live in the mountains, where our weapons are prone to dirt, dust, and mud. The AK-47 is simple and perfect for our environment.”
Hunter was impressed. “Are you ex-military, Derek?”
“Nah, I like to read a lot. It’s nice to meet you.”
Derek tapped the top of the Jeep and waved the other two men to step aside. Hunter and Tommy drove the final two hundred yards up to the main house.
Doc Cooley’s ranch consisted of two thousand acres of mountain terrain rising up to the tree line of Red Mountain. The ridges bordering his property on the north and south created a bowl effect, which provided them some flat terrain.
He’d built a massive log home that rose to a peak in the middle. A wraparound covered porch provided him a view in all directions. Scattered about the property were outbuildings, including a guesthouse, two barns, a four-car garage and covered feeders for the Irish Black and Irish Red cattle that roamed just outside the perimeter fence surrounding their home.
As Tommy and Hunter exited the Jeep, Doc waved to them from the porch. “Y’all come on in. Sorry about the welcoming committee. We’ve had some trouble since the world began to collapse.”
Hunter reached the porch first. The men shook hands, once again violating Mac’s instructions. Tommy gave his friend a bro-hug and immediately asked, “What kind of trouble?”
“We’ve had a couple of the heifers go missing from the back forty. I don’t know who could’ve gotten up there to get them. Pretty dang sure they didn’t descend from the heavens, ’cause that’s about the only way anybody can access that part of the ranch.”
Tommy couldn’t resist. “Hey, maybe it’s the space aliens. You know they’ve just found several new planets nearby that could support life. Maybe they stopped by for a steak?”
Doc laughed and p
atted Tommy on the back as he led them into the massive thirty-foot-tall log home. “Come on inside, old buddy. I think I need to check you out for altitude sickness. Or have you been in the wacky weed?”
“No weed, but I am actually here because I almost sliced my thumb off.” Tommy held up his hand for Doc to see. “We’ve got a little gal staying with us who’s a veterinarian and also worked with Mac at the CDC. She did a pretty good job but insisted I come see you.”
“I’m glad you came over,” started Doc as he carefully unwrapped the bandages. “I’ve been meaning to get over to see how you all are comin’ along. It’s been a little hectic with our preparations.”
While Doc poked and prodded Tommy’s hand, Hunter reminded him of their conversation in his office eleven days ago. “I told you the storm was coming. We just spoke with Sheriff Andrews, who appears to have his hands full keeping people out of Breckenridge. He didn’t mention anything about cases of the plague in the area. We thought you might be able to tell us.”
Doc stepped toward the kitchen and picked up his black bag. As a small-town doctor, he was still able to make house calls to his close friends if they needed his assistance. His bag was always by his side.
As he put fresh bandages on Tommy’s hand, he brought the guys up to speed. “You’re in good shape, Tommy. Tell the young lady she did a great job.”
“Thanks, Doc,” said Tommy.
As Doc repacked his medical bag, he continued. “During the middle of the summer, our population levels are at their lowest. Local businesses use the off-season as a time to go on vacation elsewhere. Most of the tourists come in the winter for ski season. In that respect, we were very lucky.
“As for plague cases, we had a few early on and we sent them to Denver. Our medical facilities are not designed for infectious disease cases. Seriously, we couldn’t handle one patient. Easily eighty percent of our patients are sports-related injuries. They play hard. Break bones. Then we fix ’em up.”
