Deadfall

by L. Douglas Hogan

  The thing that bothered Tony was the thought of Rueben asking his opinions on Denver, or telling him things about Denver that he didn’t care to know. Being in Rueben’s inner circle was a worrisome position to fill. It came with a heavy toll. The stress was a killer. Tony lived in fear of saying the wrong thing. He had no idea how sensitive Rueben was regarding the life of Denver. However, Tony was in Rueben’s inner circle, and therefore wanted his trust. Somehow he managed to cough up the necessary courage to ask his leader a question that could cost him his life.

  “Boss?” Tony asked with a strong authoritative voice, trying hard not to give him the impression that he was weak.

  Rueben was tall. He towered over Tony by an impressive nine inches as he looked down upon him. “What is it?”

  “How did you and Denver meet?”

  Rueben’s response was nothing like he worried it would be. There were no dirty looks, no swear words, no killing. Just a smirk.

  “You’re a brave one,” he answered. “Nobody’s ever had the courage to ask me that question. Nobody!”

  Tony accepted the response with great relief. He nodded his head in acknowledgment of Rueben’s praise.

  Rueben decided to share his story with Tony. If for no other reason than to test him with personal knowledge and to see if he could be trusted. “I wasn’t like other kids. I don’t know why. My childhood memories are mostly violent ones. My mom ran off when I was a small boy. I didn’t understand why she couldn’t handle the beatings like I did. My old man would beat the living daylights out of her until she couldn’t talk for the swelling in her mouth and face. Her offense? Back-talking. She did it once. After that, he beat her when she looked at him funny. He called her weak. He used to tell me that I’d grow up to be weak, too. But I proved him wrong after Mom left.

  “Once she was gone, he’d come and get me out of my room. It was always something small, like stepping on one of my toys, or me not untying my shoes when I took them off, or tracking in mud. He’d lash me with that belt until I stopped crying. He’d give me ten to start with. If I took it like a man, he’d spare me anything more than that. If I limped away, he’d snatch me up and give me more. If I cried, he gave me more until I went silent.

  “I cooked for myself. I cooked for Dad. I learned the hard way that a man has to be strong to survive in this world. To survive alone.

  “Throughout my life there was a voice in my ears telling me to suck it up and take it like a strong man. A constant encouragement in difficult times. I didn’t know who it was at the time. Later on down the road, I realized it was Denver. He helped me get through. He helped me escape the system.”

  “The system?” Tony questioned, looking up into Rueben’s eyes.

  “Yes. The law, the treatment of prisoners and the mentally ill. Freedom is an illusion. Nothing was ever free. Everything was either regulated or taxed. Law is just a way of hiding the truth.”

  “What truth?”

  “That we’re all prisoners of the system. Nobody’s free, Tony. Nobody. If there’s no such thing as freedom, then the system is a ruse; and if the system’s a ruse, then there must be countermeasures to stabilize the world. Denver taught me that.”

  Rueben looked back at Tony. Tony didn’t want to appear weak, so he maintained eye contact. It was the smart thing to do. It worked.

  Rueben smiled. “Do you know the reason why I lead these people the way I do?”

  “I assume it’s because you want a world where the survivors are strong and the weak have been laid low.”

  “Not just laid low, but put down. It’s the weak who submit. I don’t want a bunch of beta males in the new world, Tony. If we’re to rebuild things, then we need the strong. They don’t bow down to the whims of the fancy white-collared people of the world. They stand against them. We can’t let the old ways return. We have to build on the knowledge of the past.”

  Tony was grasping Rueben’s words, but the old world was already gone. He dared not remind him of the fact. He feared Rueben’s response.

  “What about these homesteaders?” Tony asked. “Don’t you think we should kill them for their offense against the Enclave?”

  Rueben looked at Tony. “Didn’t you hear anything I just said? I need the strong to help me build the new world. Those homesteaders took out many of my men. They’re strong. We need them. Alive.”

  Tony gave the comment some thought. “But that woman you killed. She was strong.”

  “Obviously she wasn’t strong enough. Otherwise, she would have survived her punishment.”

  Tony knew nobody could have survived the dragging. Rueben’s expectations were high. Still, he dared not point out the fact. “I understand.”

  The slow-moving column of Enclave members reduced their movement. They managed to gain on the homesteaders, but the lone stranger moved faster than both groups. He reached the edge of his cover and saw in the distance the back of the slow-moving caravan. They spread deep into the forest ahead of him until he couldn’t see them anymore. He slowed his pace and watched them closely. Horses composed the back of the caravan. Among them were two men deep in conversation. The tall one was clearly the alpha male between the two. The second man seemed submissive and attentive to the first.

  I’ll just keep my distance and watch from the rear. I’ll have to be super careful and quiet. The last thing I need is for them to hear that I’m here, and make my day end badly.

  The stranger followed the caravan, but was careful to keep his distance. He needed to get past them, but that was something he’d have to do in the dead of night.

  Eight

  PONTYBRIDGE

  The night of August 19th

  Devin led Darrick, Marcus, Carissa, Tonya, and Andy to the Township of Pontybridge. There wasn’t much left. It was clear the town had seen a lot of violence. The homes were vacant. The air was silent aside from random bird songs. Darrick felt helpless. Devon, Clint, and Allen were the only armed men among them. They were doing a great job of maintaining security to the front and back of the team. That didn’t help Darrick’s group feel any less vulnerable. Anxiety levels were high as they traversed the urban landscape. Nobody spoke. It was a silent approach to wherever Devin led them.

  The group came to a stop. Devin shifted from the front of the group to where Darrick was, and began to speak with him. “Just beyond these train tracks, we’ll be entering our territory. This is the space we claimed not long after the Pulse. It was an old train yard. As you can see, there’s a lot of train cars hiding our presence. The camp is guarded by members of our group. We’ve stayed safe by hiding. Let’s keep moving. I suggest you remain silent and let me do the talking.”

  Devin stepped off toward the camp, allowing Darrick to turn and raise an eyebrow to the others in his group. The expression communicated a few nonverbal clues as to what he was interpreting from the situation. Entering the camp of a fairly unknown group brought a tremendous sense of unease, but Tonya’s well-being was of the utmost importance. She was worth the risk.

  Darrick took a strong grasp on the horses reins. He rubbed Tonya’s leg with his free hand and said, “Everything’s gonna work out, hon. We just need to get some meds in you.”

  Tonya appreciated Darrick’s words, but knew they were empty. Her pragmatic view was quite contrary to his. It wasn’t because she was a pessimist, it was because she was a realist. Finding medicines two years after Western civilization had crashed into darkness would be a miracle in itself. Finding treatment for her aggressive cancer was going to be another miracle altogether, more so than the first.

  Remembering back, Andy’s eighth birthday had brought with it Tonya’s diagnosis of ovarian cancer. There were no symptoms that she could tell. By the time it was discovered, she was already in stage 3. After a few tests, the medical professionals told her that she had the BRCA gene, a genetic marker predisposing her to an increased likelihood of cancer. The gene is hereditary, meaning Andy could also be prone to prostate cancer later in life. Her goa
l was to get him somewhere safe so that he could survive the die-off and be around for future advancements in medicine – later on down the road when power was restored.

  She knew her time was extremely limited. Her mind was busy thinking of ways to manage the situation that would cause the least amount of trauma for Andy. A dark depression was overcoming her. She kept reminding herself that the emotions flooding her body were a combination of the times and hormonal issues. She secretly considered overdosing on medications, supposing any would be available to her in Pontybridge. She considered cutting her wrists in the night. Every thought of suicide was countered by the effects it would pose to Andy. She pressed on.

  Tonya nodded to Darrick in agreement. Her half smile and the sad look in her eyes told a different story. He dismissed the notion that she was giving up.

  He led the horse and followed after Devin. They followed him around a winding labyrinth of train cars until they came to a train station. The doors and windows were fortified with plate metal. Concertina and barbed wire perimeters had also been installed. Two armed guards manned the rooftop. They were the ones who challenged Devin.

  “Hold it right there,” a man on the roof shouted down. He had an M4 colt-style rifle pointed at them. “State your business.”

  “Mike, it’s okay. I brought a man who claims to be a friend of Chad Nance,” Devin shouted up. The man’s name wasn’t Mike. It wasn’t even Michael. It was Brandon. Calling a guard by his real name signaled to the security team that they were in danger. So when a patrol called the guard by a false name, it meant that there was no danger. It was a security protocol that worked well for them. The same name was never used back-to-back. If it was, then they knew problems were afoot.

  Content that Devin was among friends, Brandon lowered his rifle.

  “Follow me,” Devin said, looking back at Marcus.

  Marcus took the lead and followed just outside arm’s reach behind Devin. The steel-plated door of the train station opened, and two figures walked outside.

  “Devin,” one of the men said, “who are your friends?”

  Devin looked back at Marcus and said, “If you don’t mind, reintroduce yourselves to the men. I have an awful memory.”

  Darrick nodded, and Marcus stepped forward. “My name’s Marcus. This here is Darrick. His wife on the horse is Tonya. This is Andy, Darrick and Tonya’s son; and last, but certainly not least, Carissa, Darrick’s sister-in-law.”

  “Did they have weapons?” the man asked.

  “Nothing fancy. Just some hunting rifles, backpacks, and odds and ends,” Clint answered.

  The man looked them up and down, studying them carefully. When he was done making his assessment, he struck the butt end of his rifle on a piece of sheet metal about the size of a shingle. The sound signaled men inside the train station to come out. Two more armed men stepped out onto the antique-looking deck. Their rifles were at the ready position.

  “Devin,” one of the two men said, “what’s going on?”

  “Steve, these are friends of Chad Nance. The woman on the horse is sick. She needs help.”

  “Sick? What kind of sick?” the grizzled man asked in his deep rustic voice.

  Devin looked back to Darrick for an answer.

  Darrick stepped forward. “My name’s Darrick Mitchell. I grew up in these parts a few miles west of here. This here’s my wife, Tonya. She has advanced cancer. We’re desperately hoping you’d assist us in easing her pain – maybe something to slow the progression?”

  The man didn’t waste a moment’s thought. “Mmm,” the man mumbled before spitting on the ground. “If she’s that bad, you’d be doing her a favor to put her down now before she becomes unbearable.” He seemed rough and void of empathy.

  It was a very stark contrast from what Darrick was used to, but it was the new harsh reality. People were becoming colder, more distant – dark. Darrick didn’t know if he should respect the man for being so forthcoming, or resent him for being so heartless.

  “I’m sorry. We can’t help your wife. You’d best be on your way,” the man finished.

  Darrick’s heart melted. The man started to turn away. “We can work for you,” Darrick blurted out at the man.

  He stopped and turned around to face Darrick.

  “Please. Give us medicine to relieve her pain and we’ll work it off,” Darrick said. He was resolute. Tonya had to be medicated.

  The man’s deep hollow eyes pierced Darrick’s. “Work it off how? What skills do you have?”

  Darrick thought for a moment. “I can plant and grow vegetables; raise chickens, rabbits; and help with security.”

  The man reached up to grab a handful of his own beard. “All these things we have already.”

  The second man, who was standing next to him on the deck, leaned in toward him and whispered in his ear. Darrick’s group could see the change of expression on the face of the grizzled man. It wasn’t an expression that brought with it concern or worry; it was more like the bearded man was somehow enlightened by the whisper.

  “That’s Roy, the sergeant at arms. He’s the chief security guy and Steve’s right-hand man,” Devin said to Darrick.

  When Roy was done whispering in Steven’s ear, he stepped away and they nodded to one another. The grizzled man looked back at Darrick and spit over the side of the porch once more. “I’ll tell you what. If you want her medicated bad enough, you’ll run a little mission for us.”

  Darrick looked over to Marcus for approval, but Andy caught his attention. He was shooting daggers at him. Almost like he was paying attention to what was going on. It was a new and untypical response. Darrick seized the moment and tried to impress his son. He turned back to the men on the porch and asked the question everybody was wondering. “What’s the mission?”

  Nine

  FIRE & ICE

  Old White Oak Sanitary Landfill

  Waynesville, NC

  Repurposed FEMA Camp, Region IV

  Tommie turned the bend of the road at the end of the last mile and saw an artificial light source in the distance. Electricity! he thought. Uber excited at the thought of a warm well-lit place to lay his head and a hot meal to fill his gullet, he started running toward the light in the distance. His feet hurt. They hurt bad. He didn’t let that stop him. His desire to be served a hot plate was overwhelming.

  How could they have been so wrong? How could they have told him all the wrong things? FEMA is a disaster relief agency. Surely the conspiracy theorists were wrong. Tommie hated how preppers always talked about FEMA camps and FEMA coffins, FEMA this, and FEMA that. Never good news. He was slightly disgruntled that he’d never have the opportunity to share his experience with them. How they fed him in a time of national disaster.

  But first, he had to get there. Onward he ran, limping as he went. He didn’t care. All he could think about was that hot meal, warm blankets, a bath, and maybe even a soft pallet. His imagination was now running faster than he could move on foot.

  As Tommie turned the last bend on the graveled road, he could see it. The security lights lit the canopy round about them. The structure was huge. The night was quiet. Eerily quiet. There were no sounds of people, no campfire songs, no jubilation of people being filled with warm soups and sandwiches. More pressing was the fact that the security gates were down; and not just inoperable – they were destroyed. They were warped and fragmented, like they had been blown to bits.

  As Tommie stood there wondering what had happened, the distinct sound of a roaring convoy could be heard in the near distance. He knew the sound all too well. He left the trodden path and concealed himself in the foliage nearby. He wasn’t going to be taken by the Russians. Not again.

  The sound grew louder and louder until it turned the bend and eventually met his location. The convoy of vehicles were all Russian military-type, but it was also made up of a few American-made civilian Jeeps, SUVs, and flatbed trucks. He maintained his position and watched. What if they see me? Tommie went prone as lo
w as he could go. What’s with the American-made trucks? Tommie didn’t want to risk moving. He was curious, though. Why were Americans traveling with Russians? Maybe there weren’t any Americans at all. Perhaps it was a convoy of Russians in American trucks. What if they were Americans driving Russian military vehicles? The need to know pressed him into peeking up and through the foliage. If I’m quiet and still enough, they won’t see me.

  The passenger door of the front Humvee opened, and a foot stepped out. A tall well-built man stood up, wearing shiny black combat boots, and his hair was visibly gray. He immediately put a camouflage hat on his head. The hat matched his uniform. He appeared to be a United States soldier, but not just an ordinary soldier. This man was neatly dressed, and his presence demanded respect. The driver joined him, along with several dozen soldiers and civilians. All of them spoke soft-toned English except one. One man was speaking Russian, and he was being held at gunpoint by what appeared to be another American soldier. This lightened Tommie’s heart, but he was too nervous to reveal himself. He lay silent as he watched and listened.

  “This is the place, Major Horowitz,” the man holding the Russian hostage said. “A company of Russian Federation soldiers attacked this FEMA facility and emptied the supplies.”

  The neatly dressed gray-haired man pulled a cigar from his pocket and went to light it. Reconsidering, he pulled the cigar from his mouth and put his matches away. The cigar followed. “Young,” the major said.