The Benefactor

by Jake Aaron

  John began to protest the unlikelihood of that happening on horseback. The math didn’t support it. “But Marsh …”

  Marsh anticipated the question and cut him off. “Now, John, let this be the beginning. Trust me, it’ll happen. Here are some night vision goggles for you all. We’ll wear these until we see the first hints of sunlight. Any bright light at all will cause a bloom, a halo effect, killing the purpose of wearing them in the first place.”

  After riding along the road in a staggered fashion dictated by Marsh’s tactics, they stopped half a mile away. Marsh tied his horse to a tree and directed the others to do the same. He asked for their help, “We need to get these bushes and branches off this old Ford truck. This is how it happens, John.”

  John noted the nearly full truck bed, “Looks like more than us three.”

  Marsh: “Yeah, MREs, bottled water, survival gear, a Geiger counter … and room for one of us back there for security. John, wrap yourself up in the sleeping bag to stay warm in the back, if you're up to it. We’ll rotate who’s in back. Two bangs on the side of the truck means for the one in back to get down under the tarp. Four bangs means to get up and prepare to shoot. You’ll find a flashlight, rifle, pistol, and ammo back there. Remember: two, down; four, up!”

  While Keala absorbed the oddity of the whole situation, John had to ask, “Marsh, where’d you get the truck?”

  “More later, compadre. Keala, you're riding shotgun up front. We’ve got a world to save. Mount up!”

  In spite of keeping the truck’s headlights off, goggled Marsh skillfully dodged stalled vehicles on the highway. “Keala, please stay alert and call out anything you need me to miss. If you can tell I see it, you can stay quiet. Night driving with all these obstacles is not easy. Goes without saying, holler if you see any kind of danger.

  “I should mention we’re taking the long way to Arco. The twisty, shorter route gives the bad guys more advantage in being able to surprise us. Of course, if they aren’t already alert, it gives us the same advantage. The straighter, long route gives us more visibility to see danger coming.”

  Keala laughed, “So you flipped a coin on which way to go?”

  Marsh meted out his daily quota of one public smile. “That’s about it!”

  Keala warmed to Marsh’s self-deprecation. Then her inquisitiveness cut in, “Hey, Marsh, where’d you get the truck?”

  Marsh pointed to his right ear. “Can’t hear you! Too much engine and road noise.”

  *****

  The three made their way uneventfully north through Lolo. Going through powerless Missoula, they noticed that winter cold and darkness kept even early risers inside. One exception was a fireguard in the homeless camp near the Clark Fork river bridge on Reserve Street. The watcher marveled at the unlikely sound of a functioning motorized vehicle. That astounded him and froze him in his tracks.

  Keala: “Marsh, the river brings to mind the levees in New Orleans. What do you think will happen now if it gets hit by big hurricane?”

  “I’m no hydraulic engineer, Keala, but I would expect the pumps would be out. I think the area would flood. But we still don’t know how widespread the power outages are. I suspect pretty far, if the complete absence of jet contrails in the sky is any indication.”

  Past East Missoula, Marsh still had his night vision goggles on. He turned to Keala, “Go ahead and take your goggles off. I'll let you adjust to the sunlight first. When you're good, let me know and I’ll take mine off.”

  Abeam Clinton, Montana, Keala spotted an abandoned Montana Highway Patrol car. “That’s the third car like that I’ve seen. They can’t all be numbered 3-7-77, can they?”

  “Yes and no, Keala. Yes, all of the MHP vehicles have those numbers on their side. No, that’s not the vehicle number. That number is also on the patch of every MHP trooper.” Marsh was content to leave the subject there.

  “Come on, Marsh, what do the numbers mean?”

  “Goes back to the gold rush days in Montana.” He stopped there.

  “And … ?” Keala demanded.

  Marsh continued reluctantly, “The numbers honor the role of vigilantes in the state’s history. One version is that those are the dimensions of the grave a miscreant would be buried in if he didn’t leave the area in the same specified amount of time. The grave measurements would normally be 3 feet wide, 7 feet deep, and 77 inches long. The time to get out of town would be 3 hours, 7 minutes, and 77 seconds. And there are several other versions of what the numbers symbolize, each colorful and a little mysterious.”

  Keala: “Sounds a little harsh.”

  Almost with disdain, Marsh answered, “We Montanans are a pretty tolerant lot up to a point. Cross that point … .” His voice trailed off.

  Feeling she’d alienated the lawman, Keala threw him a bone. “I guess in South Dakota we probably had to be the same way with the likes of some of the evildoers in places like Deadwood.”

  “Yep,” Marsh said. “Human nature hasn’t changed much through history.”

  Keala wanted to make a case that people are more civilized today. She could tell Marsh didn’t think so. She knew he was probably right, but she needed to believe people were getting better. She had to believe that to stay optimistic. She stayed quiet. The silence became awkward for her, not Marsh.

  Keala filled the awkward silence, “So, tell me more of the versions of what 3-7-77 means?”

  Marsh cleared his phlegm-filled voice box. “Well, as I recall, some thought the early vigilantes were Masons. I’m a little sketchy on this. Supposedly there were 3 Masons at the first meeting in Montana. As the numbers grew, 7 were required to constitute a valid meeting. And there were 77 Masons present at the funeral of the 77th Mason in the Territory. Don’t ask me if the dead man counted! That’s enough.”

  “Marsh, you’re holding back, I can tell. What’s another theory?”

  Marsh sighed. “You're testing my memory. Something about jobs. Oh, yeah, the vigilantes had 3 attorneys, 7 shop owners, and 77 miners. I might have switched the numbers, but you get the gist. The number of miners seems logical for old Montana anyway.

  “Before you ask, young lady, the final version I remember goes something like this. Many miners came from California to find gold here. The vigilantes in California kept their identities somewhat secret by using numbers instead of names. Three key ones in Montana from that state were, of course, 3 and 7 and 77.”

  "Cool history, Marsh. The Montana Highway Patrol found a compelling symbol ... "

  Marsh sliced through his normal reluctance to speak with unexpected enthusiasm, "Not just them. My cousin, a squared-away C-130 loadmaster in the Montana Air Guard, proudly wears — wore — those numbers on his unit patch: 3 - 7 - 77. And, on the patch, was that recurring word: vigilantes." The stoic marshal fell back into accustomed silence, shocked he had spoken so much to anyone besides his wife and Zeke.

  “Thanks, Marsh, that wasn’t too hard, was it?”

  “It was, Keala. Like having my teeth pulled. I think I made some of it up because I told you more than I know. I’ll be concentrating on driving.”

  Hmmm, Keala wondered: Scratch Marsh, find a vigilante?

  *****

  After miles of driving east into the blinding sun, Marsh exited the interstate and pulled the pickup into a filling station in Deer Lodge, Montana. “Here goes nothing!” he said skeptically.

  John uncovered and jumped down from the bed of the pickup, eager to stretch. His eyes widened at the sight of uncoated Keala, reaching with arms for the sky, vee-like. “I’ll give you ten dollars to do that again!”

  Aware she had accentuated her breasts, Keala laughted. “Oh, please, John, you’re a straight arrow and very happily engaged.” Then, off-handedly Keala whispered, “And so am I.”

  Taken aback, John said, “Did I miss something? Has that been announced?”

  Matter-of-factly, she said, “No, it hasn’t. Zeke doesn’t even know … and you’re not going to tell him. You and I are brother
s-in-arms now.”

  Without hesitation, he fist-bumped her, “Brothers-in-arms, sister!” Outward, John was fluid. Inward, he realized a truth. I never could keep up with women — and I am considered quick on my feet, John analyzed. Of all the women I've met from high school on, they always seemed to be ahead of me, including “my” engagement to Susan. He smiled at his insight on the world.

  “John, Marsh and I didn’t see any lights at all along the way. Did you?”

  “No, I napped a lot, but I popped my head up now and then, Keala. Nothing!”

  Marsh appeared to not be listening as he stretched. Typically, nonetheless, he took all of their interaction in. He approached the gas pump. Its touchscreen came to life, straightaway telling him to remove the nozzle, select a grade of gasoline, and begin pumping. John and Keala were astonished. Marsh seemed unfazed, as usual.

  As the gasoline flowed, Marsh turned to John and Keala, “Don’t ask me. I don’t know. I did this on faith.”

  John pulled on his chin. “I’m going to have to rethink my EMP theory for sure. I’m starting to doubt it. Someone appears to have selective control of the grid and electronics.”

  The idea of not having a nuclear winter in the forecast gave John some comfort. He congratulated himself, I'm glad I didn't share that apocalyptic possibility with the group. Note to self, what you don't share with others may be more important than what you do share.

  "Earth to John, how about a soda?" Keala headed toward the vending machines. “I’m buying!” She bypassed the looted snack vending machine. She tried to insert a dollar bill in the coke machine. Nothing. “Doesn’t mean anything, really,” she explained to the world. “This machine has been vandalized.”

  Marsh finished pumping gas. He turned his attention to keeping the mission on track. “Good time for a nature break, if you need it.” In response to the negative nods from John and Keala, he said, “Try anyway. I don’t know that we’ll be able to stop when we might need to.”

  After several minutes, the three converged back near the truck. Ten feet away from Marsh and Keala, John hollered, “What’s up with the gas pump, Marsh?” Head swiveling to listen for a reply, John tried two other gas pumps, carefully aiming the nozzles away from himself. It was to no avail.

  “John, I really don’t know. Ask a nuclear engineer,” Marsh said ironically. “Anyway, the price was right — not a cent. I’m in back. Keala, your turn to drive. I’ll tap on the back window for the next stop. Saddle up!”

  *****

  Approaching Rocker, Montana, Keala prepared to drive south. At that intersection, a figure stood up behind a stranded car, brandishing a pistol. Anticipating trouble, Marsh had uncovered in the back and aimed his rifle at the highwayman. Seeing the weapon aimed at him, the man dropped the pistol and put his arms up in the air.

  Marsh, spoke out loud to the great outdoors, “You lucky bastard! Anyone else would have dropped you where you stand.” Through the back window, John smiled and gave him a thumbs up. Marsh let his adrenaline level subside before he got down and covered up for a power nap.

  Fifteen miles before Dillon, Keala spotted several antelope on the west side of the road.

  John: “There’s normally a herd here. That’s good meat. Keep this place in mind on our way back!”

  “You got it, sister-in-arms!”

  Well past the Montana-Idaho border at Monida, they entered the wide-open plains. Three miles ahead of them on the road, there was an explosion, followed by a plume of black smoke. Nearing what remained of that smoke, Keala rolled her window down and pounded on the door four times.

  Marsh uncovered and raised his rifle. Keala touched the 9 mm pistol on the seat at her right to be ready. John rolled his window down and grabbed his pistol.

  As they went around the explosion area, it appeared a blockade of vehicles had been blown away. There were pieces of at least five bodies strewn around the site.

  “I’m guessing this was the result of all my clean living,” John joked.

  “Someone up there likes us!” Keala declared.

  Marsh made it three-for-three with a nod and thumbs up from the back.

  Keala resumed the 45 mph limit Marsh had imposed. He wasn’t sure of the engine, and he wanted good fuel economy.

  “My turn to drive,” John demanded.

  Keala nodded an affirmative. “Looks as if Marsh has settled in back there. Let’s switch.”

  As Keala sat on his lap momentarily in passing, they both laughed in embarrassment. At the steering wheel, Keala looked at John, “Brother-in-arms, don’t say anything. Quit while you’re ahead!”

  The highway sign said the turnoff toward Arco, Idaho, was twelve miles ahead. Closer to the turnoff, there was another explosion and a plume of black smoke in the distance. John pounded Marsh awake with four thumps on his door. As they drove around the explosion's aftermath, it appeared to be another attempted blockade. The smoldering vehicles were blown off the road. Again, human body parts littered the area.

  The three exchanged unspoken awe and relief.

  On the outskirts of Arco, Marsh rapped on the back window and pointed to a filling station. John beat Marsh to the pump to see whether he could conjure up the same magic as Marsh. Sure enough, the touchscreen responded. As John pumped gas, he shook his head.

  Marsh gave it right back to John, “How’d you do that?”

  John shook his head. He broke into a smile and was surprised to see Marsh return it, if only briefly.

  As John finished gassing up the truck, Keala spoke, “Okay, boys. I get to pump next time!”

  Ignoring the demand, Marsh prepared them. “We’re almost there. We’ll be heading back east to the Idaho National Laboratory grounds. Let’s eat some food first. We need to be on hyperalert as we get near the reactor site. I’m not sure what we’ll find. I hope we at least find a guard. Then we have to deal with him or her. That may be a challenge. Follow my lead.”

  “In that case,” John said, “I’m going to start checking the Geiger counter. Nuclear reactors are particularly vulnerable to prolonged electric outages. With long outages, there’s great danger. Water pumps don’t cool the nuclear rods, leading to a meltdown. There are estimates that problems start occurring past the one-week point. Based on our filling station experiences, it appears there have been selective sites getting electricity. Let’s hope that has been the case at our reactor.”

  Marsh: “John, you're one cool, brave son-of-a-gun to volunteer for this, knowing the risks.”

  John laughed, “I’ll take the cool and brave part, Marsh.”

  Marsh pursed his lips to avoid a smile at John’s answer.

  Keala: “From the looks of everything around here, they put the reactor out here on the Plains of Nowhere — not unlike the part of South Dakota where I grew up.”

  John: “They did. Beats the heck out of locating it on a known geological fault line like the Diablo Canyon Nuclear Power Plant!

  *****

  The three walked up to the gate surrounding the nuclear site. Marsh spoke to the Marine guard, “Soldier, we’re here to fix an impending problem with the nuclear reactor …”

  John saw that the guard was slightly put off at being called soldier. “Marsh, I’ve got this!” He pulled the Department of Defense identification card from his wallet. “Marine, I’m Lieutenant JG Fortis. The marshal, my friend Keala, and I are here to prevent a nuclear meltdown. You know how difficult it is to get around now with people out of control, few vehicles that operate, and lack of communication. These two got me here. They don’t need to be admitted to the control room, but I do. I’m assuming no one has been in the control room for several days. I need to check the situation out. I can show you the gauges that will prove we have a deteriorating condition if you’d like. Otherwise, I can go in alone.”

  The Marine snapped to attention to salute John. John returned the salute. “Sir, the engineers left on 3 January and didn’t return. I still need confirmation from higher authority that you can
be admitted. My standing orders are to admit no one without higher-level approval …”

  Marsh handed his cell phone to John. “This should do it!”

  John literally held his breath as he showed the face of the smartphone to the Marine. Both looked at the phone together.

  The freshly lit screen was blank. Then a text came in:

  Lance Corporal Reynolds, admit these three persons to the facility. They all may enter the control room as well. By order of the National Command Authority.

  Through the hurricane fence, the Marine said, “Sirs and ma’am, standby while I open the gate. Welcome aboard!”

  “Lance Corporal,” Marsh asked, “may we bring the truck through the gate, too. It needs safekeeping. In the back of the truck, we’ve brought bottled water and MREs in case you need either.”

  Having no awake backup, the guard agreed to a search of the vehicle inside the gate. He would violate policy in this case. “Sir, bring the truck aboard. Please stay in the vehicle until I clear you. I have plenty of MREs and water, but thank you for your generosity.”

  The guard had the visitors stop the truck just inside the gate while he secured the lock. He then did a quick search of the bed of the pickup with the occupants in place. “Okay, visitors, clear to exit the truck. As the three in the truck started to bring their respective rifles and pistols, the guard ordered, “Halt! Hold it right there! Drop those weapons! On your knees!”

  The Marine had his M-16 spot-welded to his right cheekbone, ready to blow a hole through Marsh’s center-of-mass. The three complied, quickly dropping the loaded weapons on the ground. Marsh could see the wheels turning in the corporals brain. The National Command Authority text notwithstanding, the corporal saw he was suddenly outnumbered and vulnerable to a subterfuge by potential terrorists. He’d probably done dozens of urban simulations similar to this — enough to confuse him on which option he should take to handle the situation, Marsh speculated to himself.