Road piracy was largely the way the gangs survived. But they had to be careful how they stopped traffic. One town in California had, in defiance of orders issued by the Army, taken out a bridge to trap travellers going south. The idea was to make them abandon their vehicles. But the Army had orders to keep the road that led to the Hanford Works in Washington State open. No one knew for certain what transpired in the small town of Trinidad, California, just before the Army Corps of Engineers repaired the bridge. The citizens of the town simply disappeared and no one along the route dared duplicate their feat.
But if you stayed out of its way, the military left you alone. The Army didn’t care what the LaCroixs did to the Bradys or what the Bradys did to the LaCroixs, nor what they did to those fleeing south on the roads. They left it to them to work those things out themselves. They had to keep key governmental operations going, and there were issues brewing in the most southerly states for which troops were being held in reserve.
Hank was on the porch as Raymond and Mayfield reached the top step. He looked at the two men menacingly as they passed. Both Raymond and Mayfield were wary because they knew of Hank and his reputation. Before the ice age started, Hank sometimes worked on the family cattle ranch and other times he did odd jobs in town. He’d been a hard drinker back in the days when booze was still readily available in the markets and state-run liquor stores, and he frequented the bars in Gold Beach, to the north, and Brookings, to the south, where he long had the reputation as “the man who provoked fights.”
Hank was dimly aware that he was stupid, but fully aware that what he lacked in brains he could almost always make up for with brute strength and intimidation. Though arrested many times for DUIs, assault, and disturbing the peace, he’d never been afraid of the police, but he knew others were. Now, with the police uniforms they had stolen from a local police station, he relished the sense of legitimacy and authority he thought the uniform conferred upon him. And with his bearing, when he was out on the road flagging down hapless emigrants, he seemed like a real cop until it was too late and he revealed himself to be a psychopath.
A freshly-constructed casket dominated the living room when they entered.
“That’s Barry Higgins,” Jerry Brady whispered about the body in the casket. There was a hat on his head to hide the obvious damage. “Andy and Eddie are with their families at other houses on the compound,” he added referring to the double-wides that had been moved onto the property to form the compound on what was often referred to as the Brady ranch.
They passed through the room and past the mourners, some of whom looked up to see who they were. They walked down a long hall to the kitchen at the back of the house.
There, a casket rested in front of the stuffed chair where Abby Brady sat slumped and lost in thought. At least fifteen people were in the kitchen, but the room was silent.
“Abby?” Jerry began, “Men from the LaCroix ranch.”
The old lady didn’t look up.
“Sorry to have to bother you at a time like this,” Raymond said.
“Do you realize he’s going to have to lay in the cold earth, forever?” she asked bitterly.
Raymond didn’t answer. He didn’t care.
“Are you listening?” she asked sharply and now sat up in her chair.
“I didn’t come here to attend no funeral,” he rebutted. “We got enough of those going on at our place.”
She looked at him fiercely. “Do you know who did this?”
“That’s what I’m here for,” he said angrily. “Mr. LaCroix wants to know what you know, and see if you want to work something with us so we can take care of this problem. Am I wastin’ my time here?”
She slumped back in her chair.
“I knowed that girl was trouble,” she said. “I knowed it the moment I laid eyes on her. She brung nothin’ but turmoil, dissension, and sadness here. She had no right to do what she did.”
“Is this that Danielle?”
“You don’t use that name under my roof,” she shouted. “That name will never be spoken in this house again.”
Raymond nodded to Jerry Brady. He was ready to talk with Hank.
Jerry nodded back and he, Raymond, Mayfield, and Hank turned to leave the kitchen.
“Where are you goin’?” Abby demanded.
The four men stopped.
“You got grievin’ to do,” Raymond said to her.
“There’s always grievin’ to do,” she countered. “You tell me what you want and why you’re down here in the middle of a funeral.”
“This isn’t the only funeral takin’ place,” Raymond said walking toward her. He stopped right in front of her. He wasn’t afraid of her, but he knew he had to be careful. “We got four of our own down. One’s a boy younger than Joel. So don’t you go layin’ your sorrow on us, we got enough of our own. We come down here to see what we can do about this problem. You? Hank? I don’t care who I talk to. This is gotta be nipped in the bud.”
“Where are you goin’?” Abby said sharply. This time she was talking to Clara who had gotten out of her seat and hoped to leave the kitchen.
Clara stood indecisively for a moment then sat again.
“You show some respect,” Abby warned her.
Several of those who’d been in the kitchen when the men entered now shifted in turn as if making themselves ready for a long quiet vigil.
“Who do I talk to to make some plans?” Raymond asked.
“I want that girl and her baby and whoever it was that helped her to pay for what they done to me.”
“There’s a baby?”
Abby didn’t answer.
“You know, those girls tried to tempt my boys with sex to get them to do things out in that field,” she said. She didn’t say what field to Raymond.
“There’s other girls with them?” Raymond asked. “First there’s the guy, then the guy and a girl, then there’s a baby, now there’s other girls? What are we up against?”
“No, that other one’s dead.”
One other, he thought. “How’d she die?”
“Never you mind how she died, but she was naked as a jaybird when they found her body out there. That’s proof she was trying to tempt them. I always knowed she was a tramp, one of them road sluts that keep showin’ up. Those road sluts bring grief with them.
“When are you boys gonna learn that?” she asked looking around the room.
“What are we gonna do, Abby? There’s a storm movin’ in and we gotta get back. And one of the boys that come with us has his own brother to mourn, but he’s here to help settle this shit.”
“You watch your tongue in front of my grandson,” she snapped.
Raymond rolled his eyes then nodded toward the casket. “Sorry. But we gotta do something. They’re still out there. They know where we live, but we don’t know where they live, and they’re gonna pick us off, one by one, if we don’t do something, now.”
“You work it out with Hank…” she said. “…but you let me know what’s goin’ on. They’re gonna pay for this…everyone’s going to pay for what they did to my Sweetie. He never even got to know what life’s about. He was so pure. You know, he even cared about that little whore. He even wanted her to stay. And look how she paid him back.
“No more, you hear me?” she yelled looking around the room. “No more tramps, no more sluts from the road,” she said.
“Clara, you make me some tea.”
Clara leaped from her seat, went to the wood stove, and moved the kettle to a hot spot. She got a cup down from the cupboard and a tea bag from the canister. Abby was the only one allowed to drink tea on the ranch, anymore. Clara wondered what life was going to be like when the tea was gone and Abby had one more thing to bitch about. She hoped someone coming down the road would have some that the boys could take.
“And make certain you let me know what’s happenin’,” the old woman barked as the men turned again to leave.
Once they were back on the porch, Hank
said, “You meet us tomorrow and I’ll lead a group of our men and your men and we’ll find this bastard.”
“You’re not leadin’ shit,” Raymond said. “We’ll work with you guys, but Mr. LaCroix isn’t gonna have you runnin’ our boys.”
“Why not?” Hank asked.
“’Cause you’re an idiot,” Raymond said heatedly.
He was direct with Hank. He had to make it clear, right from the start, Hank wasn’t leading anything.
“You know the old beaver pond up near the old lumber camp,” Raymond said. It wasn’t a question, but he wanted to make sure Hank knew what he was talking about. When Hank nodded, Raymond said, “Mr. LaCroix wants us to meet with some of your boys there tomorrow morning so we can get started on this.”
“How many should we bring? We can get a dozen, maybe twenty, guys together…”
“We can’t support an operation that big,” Raymond said cutting him off. “LaCroix says each compound should send four men. It’s probably enough to take care of this guy and it’s more than enough to go scouting. If it turns out there’s too many of them, we’ll know where they are and we can send out a bigger party.
“Bring stuff that’ll let you be out for a few days: Guns, food, and extra clothes.”
“I’ll have to ask Abby,” Hank said.
Raymond stomped his foot then started pacing on the porch. When he got back to Hank he got in his face. “She said to work things out with you,” he snapped. “If you can’t make any decisions, you stay here; send her out to help us.”
“We got funerals tomorrow,” Hank said.
“We got funerals, too!” Raymond yelled. “And we’re gonna have them every day unless we stop the guys doing this.”
“There’s more than one?” Hank asked in surprise. “Andrew said there’d only been the one.”
“You guys already said there’s a girl with him!” Raymond shouted, again. “For all I know, he’s got a fuckin’ army with him. But we’re not gonna find out sitting here on our asses at the compounds.”
He shook his head. Hank was an idiot. “We gotta find out how many more there may be.”
“That girl’s no problem,” Hank said.
“She was in on the shootin’ of some of your boys, so she’s a problem. Get that straight in your fuckin’ head. Why’s she with the guy, anyway?”
“Andrew said he seemed to come from nowhere. Maybe he’s her boyfriend. She talked about havin’ one. Maybe he followed her down the road.”
“No, this is a local guy,” Raymond said, then paused. “At least we think he is.”
“Why would a stranger save her?” Hank asked.
“Save her from what?”
“We took ’em out to the field to shoot ’em.” And right after he said it, Hank realized he shouldn’t have.
Raymond wasn’t going to ask why they were going to shoot her. He’d heard the rumors about what happened on the Brady Ranch. If the snow melted and normalcy came back, everyone on the Brady compound would probably be hung. Of course, given the robberies they had committed on the 101, folks from the LaCroix compound probably wouldn’t fare much better. It was ironic, but after you robbed and maybe killed enough, you didn’t want the ice age to end. Yet, if you prayed at all, an end to the ice age was what you always asked for first.
Mayfield was looking at the sky. “That storm’s getting’ closer, Billy. We’d better get a move-on.” And it was true, But, mostly, Mayfield wanted to get away from the Brady compound. Relatives or not, he was uncomfortable here.
Jerry Brady and two other men escorted them back out onto the trail leaving Hank behind.
When they reached a point where they were going to split up, Billy Raymond said to Jerry Brady, “I don’t want to have to depend on Hank relaying the message. So you tell the old lady we’ll meet some of you boys up at the beaver pond at eight o’clock sharp, tomorrow morning…” and he looked at the sky…“unless the weather’s really bad. And, if it is, we gotta get out there and find this guy after the storm moves on. Send us something on channel thirteen. We’ll monitor it. Just be careful with what you say. No details…
“And see if you can leave Hank here.”
“That ain’t gonna happen’” Brady said. “She’s gonna make sure he comes along. He’s the only one she really trusts to carry out her orders.
“You gonna be comin?”
“Yeah. I gotta get away for a few days.” He spit in the snow, again. “It’s a damned zoo down here,” he said shaking his head.
He looked up at the storm moving in and wanted to tell Raymond about them taking the six young girls out to the barn the night before, and shooting them, but he thought better of it. Besides, he shot one of them, himself. He’d liked to have fucked her, first. But you did as you were ordered at the Brady ranch.
Chapter 12
August 29
By morning, a huge storm front was running ashore from San Francisco to Juneau, Alaska.
At the LaCroix compound, Louis LaCroix had contacted Jerry Brady via the CB radio and put off their meeting at the beaver pond. His message was brief, but easy to understand: “Wait ’til after the storm. I’ll contact you then.” LaCroix’s only consolation was that whoever it was they were going to go after was having the same problems with the weather. At least he hoped so.
When Billy Raymond came into the old den in the main house that now served as LaCroix’s headquarters, LaCroix was standing at a window watching the falling snow in the newborn dawn.
Raymond stood in the doorway and knocked on the doorjamb to let LaCroix know he was there.
Without turning, LaCroix asked, “Did you hear the radio reports this morning?”
“I don’t listen to them anymore,” Raymond replied. “I’ve been busy all morning, anyway.”
“This morning,” LaCroix said without emotion, “California, Texas, Louisiana, and Florida all announced they’ve seceded from the Union.”
“What?” Raymond’s surprise was genuine.
“I think other states—at least the ones that aren’t getting buried in snow yet—are going to follow suit,” LaCroix added. “Apparently, they don’t want to share whatever resources they have with anyone up north.”
“Can they do that? Just up and get out?”
“I’m not sure there’s enough Federal Government left in Washington, D.C., to stop them from doing whatever they want,” LaCroix replied.
He glanced back at Raymond. “The governors are telling any military units within their borders to report to state offices and they’ll be welcomed.”
“Do you think they’ll do it?”
“Who knows? It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there, now. Some may. But I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the Army and Marine commanders stage coups of some kind. And why not? They’ve got the big guns. I imagine whoever the Marine commander is at Camp Pendleton, down there in southern California, is weighing his options,” he chuckled sardonically. “He could crown himself king of Southern California.”
“What about the other states?” Raymond asked.
“Most of them here up north don’t really exist, anymore. They’re just names on the map, now. The Dakotas? The rest of the Midwest? All of the northeast including New England? The Rocky Mountain states? If they’re not gone yet, they’ll be gone soon. There are still people left in them, but by and large, there are no state governments in them anymore. And if the people still in those states don’t get the fuck out, they’ll disappear, too.”
“I heard the governor of Montana was calling for law and order…”
“Who is he?” LaCroix asked. “He’s not someone who was elected. The real governor resigned and went to Arizona after the riots in Helena and Boise. How would you like to have been on the Titanic and, as the bow was going under, have had the captain pass you his hat and say, ‘You’re in charge, now.’” He laughed again. “Governor of Montana,” he said derisively. “He’s some wannabe living out a fantasy. He’d better get the fuck out of there befo
re he becomes a Popsicle.”
“Are we gonna get frozen out?” Raymond asked pensively.
“Here in Oregon, on the coast? Maybe not.”
“Why not?”
“Thank the ocean and the wind.”
When Raymond didn’t say anything, LaCroix looked back at him. Raymond had a quizzical look on his face.
“Climatologists call that ocean out there a heat sink,” LaCroix said. “There’s more heat locked up in the water out there than there is in a million atom bombs. That and the prevailing winds that blow over it and come ashore here are the reasons we never used to be too hot in the summer or too cold in the winter. A lot of people used to complain about the summer weather here. They said it was never warm enough because of the ocean. Now that water is all that might save our asses from freezing.
“I read a book in which some geologist said that back in the last ice age, the glaciers didn’t pile up here because of that ocean out there. It got colder and things like the redwoods and the sequoias grew further south because the weather better suited them there. But the glaciers never made it all the way to the coast.
“Of course, they may be wrong this time, and we might get pushed right into the Pacific.”
Raymond stood respectfully silent and, after a awhile, LaCroix actually had to turn again to make sure he was still there.
“Did you hear,” LaCroix asked, as he turned and watched the snow again, “the Mexicans have closed their border? They’re not letting Americans come into the country.” He chuckled. “Did you ever think you’d live to see that—them sealing it off so we can’t go down there?”
“I heard De Angelis say something about it,” Raymond replied.
“Ironic,” LaCroix said. “They’ve been crossing our border for years, and we never knew what to do about it. Now, they’re saying that crossing their border is a capital offense. They’re shooting people on sight. They’re not even letting Mexicans, who came up here illegally, go back to their own country. Now, that’s what I call immigration control.” He laughed. “They’re smarter about it than we were.”
Danielle Kidnapped: A Novel of Survival in the Coming Ice Age Page 14
