Switched On: Book Six in The Borrowed World Series

by Franklin Horton

  Boss was up before daylight and kitted out for going over the wire. As much he hated it, there were some management duties required before he could get out of office for the day. He hoped his impatience and irritation showed so people would keep their business brief. Even so, it was after 9 AM before he burst through the steel door to the parking lot where his team waited on him.

  "Let's hit the road, gentlemen. This is going to be a fucking brilliant day.”

  Boss’s vehicle was a custom job he brought in on the train, based on an Oshkosh L-ATV, or Light Combat Tactical All-Terrain Vehicle. There was a ring mount on the roof with an M240. His team also had a designated marksman carrying a Wilson Combat Super Sniper. The rest of the men, including Boss, carried FN MK16 CQCs.

  Boss waved to the team that had found the tracks yesterday. There were two Americans and three Turks in an Otokar Cobra II painted United Nations white. “You take the lead,” he told one of the Americans. “Stop at the point you pick up the tracks. I want to get a look at them before we obliterate them.”

  It took them about forty-five minutes to make their way from the power plant to the spot where the recon team picked up the tracks. Another day in the mid-40s was doing a good job of melting off the road but there was still slush and pockets of snow in the shady hollows of the road. In these steep mountains, there were many of those shady hollows.

  When they picked up the truck tracks again, the Cobra II came to a stop. One of the Americans popped out of the side hatch and scanned the perimeter. He was in full load-out, complete with helmet and armor. Boss seemed to remember that the guy was with U.S. Customs. The doors opened on Boss’s Oshkosh and his team climbed out, with the exception of the man on the M240.

  Boss examined a set of tracks where one truck had turned tight against the shoulder. It was clearer than the other tracks, most of which ran over top of each other.

  "Just going off the tires and the turning radius I’d guess that’s a commercial vehicle," Boss said.

  "And somehow they have enough fuel to run several of them," said his driver, a man named Kerry. He’d left Special Forces to come work for Boss. More action, less bullshit.

  "Or it's a single vehicle that’s been in and out a lot," Boss countered.

  Kerry shrugged, testing the density of the snow with the tip of his boot. “Could be.”

  Back in the vehicle and following the tracks, Boss pulled a tablet from a pouch on his leg and studied a digital map of the area. "This is farming country, as far as I can see. No factories, no coal mines, no industry of any kind. There’s no obvious reason for that much truck traffic, all things considered.”

  In a matter of moments they were at Kyle’s driveway and the team of vehicles stopped again while Boss examined the tracks. “They've definitely been in and out of this driveway a few times but the tracks keep going. Whatever they did here, they didn’t stay.”

  "Which way, Boss?" Kerry asked.

  Boss climbed back into the Oshkosh and made a forward gesture with his hand. "Let's keep going. If we don’t find anything we can always come back."

  They continue to follow the truck tracks for another eighteen miles then turned onto a divided state road they followed for another five miles. With the snow melting, there was a short window of time where the trail would be visible. In another day or two they would be completely gone.

  They’d been following the tracks for nearly an hour when they stopped at a four-lane highway. They walked around a major intersection for several minutes, examining the utter carnage that had taken place there. There were bullet-riddled and burned out cars. What appeared to be human bones were scattered about around.

  Boss picked one up and examined it. “Teeth marks. Likely a dog or coyote.”

  They confirmed the direction the trucks had travelled and got back on the road. Within another three miles, the tracks left the road, turning right onto a county road that led up a steep ridge. Boss constantly referred to his tablet, examining their surroundings and trying to see what lay ahead. This was new country for him. He’d studied the area around the power plants but nothing this far out, except in general terms.

  "I'm still not seeing shit," he said.

  They drove under a set of high-voltage transmission lines and a man in the back pointed them out. "Is that our power, Boss?"

  "There's no power yet, but soon,” he replied.

  "You think those are our lines though? You think that's how our power is getting back east?"

  Boss turned around and looked at the passenger. "I haven't memorized the whole damn grid. Don’t be asking me stupid shit.”

  “Sorry,” the man replied, embarrassed.

  The road began to get steeper and Boss pulled out his tablet again. "I wonder where the hell they’re going.” It wasn’t intended as a question, just a man with a lot on his mind processing out loud.

  Boss scrolled around his tablet trying to figure out what those trucks might be doing in this area. His mapping software showed few houses. In fact, it showed very little at all when he expanded the range of his map. Most of the roads out in this area were dead ends. It was vast cattle country, with big blocks of grazing land that extended for hundreds or thousands of acres.

  Then Boss saw a feature on the map he recognized, one he’d seen numerous times in his extensive study of the local power grid mapping. He zoomed in on the feature and squinted his eyes in disbelief. "No, they wouldn't do that."

  "What was that, Boss?" Kerry asked.

  Boss shook his head. "Nothing. Just thinking out loud."

  22

  Kyle was pleased with the early progress of his hastily-assembled crew. They’d done much better pulling wire than he had expected. In fact, he'd sent two trucks off the job to retrieve more wire in anticipation of another productive day. If all went well, they would have all the line stretched out on the ground by the end of the day. With things going well, they knocked off for an early lunch. The men had earned it. After lunch, they were sitting around lamenting the lack of tobacco products when they heard the distant rumble of vehicle engines straining as they climbed the steep road.

  "Sounds like somebody has got another of the trucks running," one of the crew said.

  Kyle and Orfield looked at each other. They didn’t think it was one of the propane-fueled freezer trucks. No one else knew about those trucks. In fact, Kyle's first thought had been that Jim came up with a vehicle and fuel in order to come check their progress.

  Kim had mentioned that Jim had come by the house. That made Kyle slightly guilty for just diving into the project without even telling Jim he was doing it. After all, it was Jim’s project. He’d been the one that had come to Kyle. But to Kyle’s way of thinking, why waste time on talking? It was better to just get to work. That was how things got done.

  While Kyle's curiosity was piqued by the sound of the truck engines, there was also a nagging concern it could be somebody dangerous. He got up and retrieved his deer rifle from the back of one of the trucks, worked the bolt, and chambered a round. He lifted it to his eye and used the scope to scan the road.

  “Oh shit,” he mumbled on seeing the first of the military vehicles.

  “What is it?” Orfield asked.

  "Boys, it looks like the Army has done come to pay us a visit. There’s a chance they may not approve of what we’re doing.”

  "What are we gonna do?" asked one of the linemen.

  Kyle shrugged and lowered the rifle. "I don't rightly know."

  Orfield pointed to the tree line. "We could go take cover over yonder. I doubt those boys are interested in chasing us around these hills on foot."

  "We do that, they might take our trucks," Kyle said. "We lose those trucks and tools we might as well throw in the towel."

  "So you're fixing to take on the Army with that deer rifle?" Orfield asked. “All by yourself?”

  Kyle smiled. "I intend to have this here deer rifle handy while I discuss our situation with the gentlemen from the military. Just fo
r my own piece of mind, you see.”

  Orfield nodded, considering the situation. Kyle noticed a little distress on the older man’s face.

  "Orfield, you're practically retired. You're more than welcome to keep an eye on us from cover. We’ll call you down when we run them off. Matter of fact, why don't all you boys go up there and take cover. It will be okay. I got this."

  Orfield gave his old friend a bitter look. "Son, you got the gift of gab. Don't know as I've ever met anyone quite as gifted with gab as you. But I'll be staying here and facing the music with you. Wouldn’t feel right to watch from the sidelines."

  Kyle tried to convince Orfield to leave but he only succeeded in making matters worse. By the time Kyle gave up, all of his crew had made up their mind stay at his side. Whatever they had to face, they were going to face it together. They would be facing it soon too, since the two military vehicles had already turned onto the gravel road leading up to the substation and were approaching them cautiously.

  Orfield pointed to the roof of the Oshkosh. "By God, there's a gun mount up there and a feller pointing a machine gun right at us.”

  "I see that," Kyle said. “We must look pretty mean from the road.”

  The Oshkosh approached to within thirty feet and a voice came across a loudspeaker. "Drop your weapons!"

  Kyle did not raise his weapon in an aggressive manner but neither did he drop it.

  "You drop yours and I’ll drop mine!" he hollered back.

  Kyle assumed they were behind all that armor and those tiny windows discussing his lack of cooperation but he couldn’t tell what was going on. It wasn’t long before teams spilled from both vehicles, weapons at high ready and aimed center-mass toward every one of the linemen.

  "Don't even breathe," Kyle told his crew.

  From what he could tell, the soldiers were not all part of one force. They were several different types of uniforms, no visible insignia, and no flags indicating nationality. The line of approaching men stopped at around fifteen yards, thoroughly covering Kyle's crew of linemen.

  No one asked Kyle's crew to drop their weapons again. In fact, no one said a word at all, which made the entire event that much more terrifying. When the standoff had stretched way beyond the uncomfortable point, the passenger door on the Oshkosh opened and a man stepped out. He looked like he was military from the waist up but wore jeans and a pair of snow boots that did not look military issue. He carried a stubby rifle that Kyle didn't recognize but it looked like something from the movies. The man did not immediately acknowledge Kyle and his crew. He checked out their vehicles, their tools, and examined the task they were working on.

  When the man had finished his thorough assessment of the scene, he returned stood in front of the assembled lineman. "Who's in charge of this little group?"

  He waited for a response. When none came, Boss tipped his FN toward the youngest of the linemen and dumped nearly a dozen rounds in the boy’s chest, neck, and face. He was dead before he hit the ground. The other linemen were too shocked to react. It was also clear at this point that any reaction would likely get the rest of them killed.

  "When I have to repeat myself, there's always a price to pay."

  The group, particularly Kyle, stared in horror as their friend and coworker bled out in the slush. His name was Nick and he’d planned to get married last fall. They’d put the wedding on hold until the power came back on.

  "Now, assuming you all remember the question, are you going to answer before I have to kill another of you fuckers?”

  Kyle raised a hand, still unable to pull his eyes away from the dead man. He heard footprints moving toward him, sloshing through the snow. They stopped in front of him but still he didn’t look.

  "I don't talk to the side of a man’s face. You can turn around or I'll turn you around,” Boss warned.

  Kyle had no intention of ignoring the man but apparently he didn’t respond fast enough. Before he knew what was happening, there was a man on each side of him and he took a blow to the arm that numbed it entirely. His gun dropped involuntarily from his hand. One of the men behind him kicked the back of his knees and he dropped to the damp ground. The same put a gloved hand on each side of his face, roughly tilted it up, and made him face the murderer.

  "My name's Boss," the murderer said. "No need trying to commit that to memory because you’re not going to live long enough for that to matter."

  Kyle gave the man his full attention but had no response for what he had been told.

  “Now what the hell do you boys think you're doing up here? You aren’t trying to steal some of my power, are you?"

  Kyle wanted to kill this man with his bare hands. “I reckon we have more right to it than you do,” he responded.

  Boss smiled. "You'd be wrong about that, shitbird."

  "I've worked in this industry all my life. Our people work at that power plant. Our people dig the coal that feeds that plant."

  Boss shook his head as if humoring a child. "Being a worker bee doesn't mean you own the honey. I’m the farmer here to take the honey and if you challenge me, you’ll get crushed.”

  Kyle could not believe this was happening. An hour ago they’d nearly been enjoying themselves. It had almost started to feel like any old day on the job before the world fell apart. For a little while they’d been able to forget the trouble, the sadness, and the hunger.

  "So what was your little plan here?" Boss asked, looking around the substation.

  "We were going to steal a little juice from the high voltage lines," Kyle said. “It wouldn’t have been enough to cause you any problems. You’d probably never have even noticed."

  Any trace of humor left Boss’s face. "There's where you're wrong. Now everyone you wrangled into this little plan of yours is a liability. You’re like a bunch of cattle with mad cow disease and I’ve got to deal with it."

  Kyle’s shock was beginning to wear off and the seriousness of this whole episode was settling over him. They were going to be killed. "If you have to teach somebody a lesson, teach it to me," Kyle said. "Let these boys go. It was all my idea."

  Boss shook his head. "I appreciate you trying to be chivalrous but it doesn’t mean shit to me. I got bigger things to deal with and this is just a waste of my fucking time."

  “Please,” Kyle begged.

  Boss turned his back on Kyle and spoke to his men. "We need to make an impression here, boys. I want people to be scared to ever try this again. Let's make it memorable."

  23

  Jim and his team headed out early for what he thought would be a three-hour ride to the substation where they suspected Kyle might be working. Since it was a good distance from home by walking or horseback, Jim wanted to take folks who were capable of a fight if it came to that. He had no idea what was taking place in that part of the county. It might as well have been a different state.

  He recruited his friend Gary, who’d walked all the way home with him from Richmond. Gary had been keeping a low profile lately. His large extended family was living in a home that had once belonged to Henry, one of Jim's friends and neighbors. The small ranch house was busting at the seams and Gary was working to ready another nearby home for his daughter and her husband Will. The two would still be close by but the split would make conditions a little more tolerable in Gary’s house.

  Since they were not returning to town, the scene of Buddy’s death, Randi was up for the trip. Jim raised Hugh on the walkie-talkie and he agreed to go also. Gary had a set of body armor he could wear on the trip. Ford had outfitted Hugh and Jim each with a set from gear he found at the emergency operations center. Before they left the valley that morning, the entire entourage stopped by Ford’s house and he outfitted Randi with a set as well. Jim felt a little better with everybody armored up but in truth there was a whole lot of body sticking out on all sides of that armor plate. Catching a bullet in an arm or leg was no picnic in the best of times. It could be a death sentence under these conditions.

  Jim had
a rough idea of where the substation was. It sat on the shoulder of the same mountain range he lived on, a few miles further north. The good news was that reaching the substation from his valley required no travel at all on paved roads. They could take shortcuts through vast cattle pastures. When they reached the higher elevations, they could follow dirt and gravel roads that cut through sparsely populated communities.

  The bad news was it was entirely possible the residents of those communities may treat visitors the same way Jim and his neighbors did. It would not surprise him at all to find roads blocked and cut off to outside traffic. Hell, Jim had gone as far as to blow a road up to prevent folks from traveling it. If he encountered a situation like that, he would have to backtrack and hope they could find a way around.

  When they reached the higher mountain communities, Jim was pleasantly surprised to see people generally ignored them, making him wonder if the residents were accustomed to folks on horseback moving around. It was a good sign. Maybe these people were weathering the hard times with the same resiliency Jim and his neighbors had demonstrated.

  Seeing people made Jim feel very exposed on the open road. He would not have been surprised at any moment to hear the crack of a rifle firing a warning shot, or worse, in their direction. The roads changed from asphalt to gravel as they went higher on the shoulder of the mountain and soon they reached their destination. It sat off the road in dense woods but the oaks, maples, and poplars were bare this time of year. Had it been summer and the trees fully leafed out, they may have ridden right by it.

  A flat gravel pad had been bulldozed into the side of the mountain and hundreds of tons of gravel scattered to create the site. A wide gravel road wound its way up to the site. The road was still snow-covered at this elevation and overlapping tire tracks laced their way up the road. This had to be the place.