“Yep. I am proud of him. His father will be too. He’s come a long way in the last few months. Now, then, what can I do to help?”
“Well, I’m not one of those men who’s gonna jeopardize his own life by asking his woman to go into the kitchen and make him some sandwiches. I’m too smart for that. So instead, I’ll give you a choice. I need to cut these two by twos into some spikes. I also need four sandwiches made. Do you have a preference?”
“You’re not quite as slick as you think you are, Tom Haskins. If I knew how to make a spike out of a two by two, I’d send you in that kitchen in a heartbeat.
“But what you fail to realize is, I don’t mind making sandwiches for you and Jordan. One of the things that’s kept us all going is everybody’s willingness to jump in and help wherever they’re needed, with no hurt feelings or egos to get in the way.
“It’s worked well so far, and I suspect it’ll continue to work. What kind of sandwiches?”
“Do we still have that chicken salad Joyce made a couple of days ago? That sounds good.”
“Yep. We still have some. Four chicken salad sandwiches coming up. I’ll put them in a bag with some cookies and apples. Gotta keep your strength up, for all that spike making and tree dragging, and whatever else you two are doing out there.”
“Thank you, dear. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
She kissed him.
“That’s good. Because I’m never gonna give you a chance to find out.”
Half an hour later, Tom returned to the work site to find Jordan almost finished with the ditch.
On the back of the Gator were forty two by twos, each about four feet long. They were originally eight footers, but Tom used a power saw to cut each of them in half.
He made the cuts at severe angles, so one side of each piece ended in a very sharp spike.
He also brought his six foot ladder.
Jordan killed the engine and stepped out of the Bobcat’s cab. The two had lunch together and Tom explained the rest of his plan.
“The ladder is so I can get my old tired ass in and out of the trench. I’m telling you that so you can go ahead and start making fun of me.”
“I could never make fun of you, Tom. I respect you too much for that.”
Tom smiled, until Jordan continued.
“In fact, I respect all of my elders. The older they are, the more I respect them. And I have a lot of respect for you, Tom.”
He said it with a smile and Tom knew he was kidding. It was another way of showing he’d become a man. He was no longer afraid to rib the other adults. He now considered himself a peer.
“Smart ass.”
Jordan grinned, then asked, “What are the pointed sticks for?”
“This is a trick I picked up from the Viet Cong many years ago. We’re going to put these in the bottom of the trench. These are night cowards who will only attack us when it’s dark. We can use that to our advantage by setting this little trap for them.
“We’re going to put these in the bottom of the trench, pointy side up. If they figure out a way to get through the mesquite trees again, they’ll have to cross this field in the dark.
“Hopefully, a couple of them won’t be able to see the trench in the dark and will fall into it. If we’re lucky, they’ll fall on one of the spikes and impale themselves through the heart. Or, at least hurt themselves enough to prevent them from going any further.”
“Cool. You said this idea was created by who?”
“Gee whiz, Jordan. Don’t they teach history in the high schools anymore?”
Jordan smiled.
“History, yes. But not ancient history.”
“The Viet Cong were our enemies during the Vietnam war. They used a wide variety of jungle warfare strategies and guerrilla tactics to cause casualties among our troops. This was just one of the tactics they used.”
“And did it work?”
“Oh, yes. It worked quite well. For them, anyway. It was hell for the good guys. A lot of our guys got killed outright. They’d fall in the pits and take a spiked stick through the heart or head and die quickly. Others might get poisoned and die in a field hospital later on, or get an infection serious enough to keep them laid up and off the battlefield for awhile.”
Jordan looked at him for more explanation.
“They used to make their spikes out of bamboo shoots and other sticks. They’d sharpen them to points like pencils so they’d tear right through flesh, and sometimes even bone. Then they’d dip the points in all kinds of nasty stuff. Poisons, the waste from water buffalo, even human waste sometimes.”
“Wow. Do you think it’ll work against our intruders?”
“Well, we’re not going to poison the spikes or put animal waste on them. Hopefully one of them will fall into the hole, and the others will decide this is just too much for them to chew off and try to swallow, and they leave again. And even if they don’t fall in the hole, maybe it’ll make them stop and think. Maybe they’ll decide that we’ve got nothing worth them dying for.”
Jordan was impressed. He saw a side of Tom he’d never seen before. A man of ingenuity. A man who was willing to do anything he had to do to protect his family. And it occurred to Jordan at that point that Tom was indeed part of their family. He wasn’t related to any of them by blood, but that didn’t matter. He was related to them by desperate circumstance, and in a way that was more of a bond than mere blood.
“Why don’t you finish up the ends of the trench while I bury the spikes? Try to get rid of the loose dirt at each end so they can’t use it as a ramp to walk out on. It’s only five feet deep, so it won’t hold em for long, but we don’t want to make it easy for them to get out, either.”
Jordan climbed back in the cab of the Bobcat and followed his instructions. Tom took the first of his spikes, placed it point down on the ground at the bottom of the trench, and hit it three times with his sledge hammer. It was buried about a foot deep. Then he placed the sledge hammer aside and carefully moved the spike back and forth until it was loose enough to pull back out of the ground.
Then he turned the spike over so the pointed side was up and shoved the blunt end back into the hole. It was upright, sturdy and dangerous.
When they went back to the compound that day, Tom personally sought out every single person in the group and told them, “Jordan and I built some booby traps in the north field, close to the fence line. Do not go out there unless Jordan or I are with you, so we can show you what to watch out for.”
-36-
That wasn’t the only surprise Tom wanted to leave for any intruders who were bold enough to break into the compound.
The day after they’d dug the trench and buried the deadly spikes in the ground, Joyce went outside to find Tom and Jordan atop two wooden ladders, twelve feet apart, drilling small holes in the top of the wall.
“Good morning, you two. After you spent all day long together yesterday, I’d have thought you were getting tired of each other by now.”
Tom laughed his easy going laugh.
“Oh, hell, no. Jordan’s my little buddy. That’s why we put the ladders close enough for us to talk while we work. If we didn’t like each other we’d be working on different sides of the wall.”
“What kind of work are you doing, exactly? If you don’t mind me asking, of course?”
“Oh, we don’t mind at all. You tell, her, Jordan, while I go get another battery for my drill.”
Tom scrambled down off the ladder and walked off to the workshop.
“Do you remember when we emptied out that Walmart trailer, and we came across several cases of screws?”
“No.”
“Well, you may have been in the feed barn at the time, organizing what we were putting in there. Anyway, we found four cases of three inch screws on one of the pallets. We weren’t sure what to do with them, since at the time we couldn’t think of any reason we’d ever need thousands of screws. In fact, we almost threw them in the trash pit wi
th the cardboard boxes and wooden pallets.
“But it turns out that Tom had a better idea. So I’m glad we kept them.”
“So, what was Tom’s idea?”
“We’re drilling holes along the top of the fence, every six inches, all the way around the compound. Then we’re going to screw all of those screws into the holes, with the pointy ends on the outside of the top of the fence.”
“I see. And just what is the point of all this?”
Tom walked up behind her at that point, a freshly charged battery attached to his drill. He took over.
“The guys that came the other night had my six foot ladder. It was tall enough for them to look over the fence, but didn’t go all the way to the top.
“They no longer have access to my ladder. I brought it back over here and put it in the workshop. But once they discover it’s missing, they’ll likely go back and find another one that will enable them to scale the fence.
“But here’s the deal. The fence is ten feet high. Whether they bring a six footer or an eight footer, they’ll still have to climb from the top of the ladder and over the fence. Then they’ll have to drop ten feet to the ground below.
“We plan to make that experience as painful for them as possible. I’m sure they’ll attack at night again and it’ll be dark. Hopefully they won’t see the black screws protruding from the black fence until they scramble over the top of it.
“Hopefully the first one will take three inches of screw right in his abdomen. It won’t kill him, but it’ll damn sure start him bleeding real good. Hopefully it’ll make him cry for his mommy and make the men behind him think it’s not such a good idea.”
“Do you think it’ll stop them and make them go away?”
“No, I don’t, unfortunately. But I think it’ll help us out in two other ways. First of all, it’ll slow them down by giving them something else to worry about. Instead of scrambling quickly over the fence to avoid getting shot, they’ll have to take their time and climb over it deliberately. That means they’ll be in my sights a little bit longer.
“The second thing I’m banking on is reducing their numbers. Say they attack with six men. If we can injure two of them going over the wall, that’s two fewer men they’ll have shooting back at us.
“Plus, have you ever heard the saying, ‘a bad wound is better than a kill?’”
Joyce shook her head no.
“It was one of the basic philosophies of the German Army during World War II. Many of the traps they left for the allied armies weren’t lethal. Mines with small amounts of explosives to weaken their blasts, and things like that. The Viet Cong used some of the same methods during the Vietnam War.
“The principle was that in the heat of a battle, you can tie up more of the enemy troops by wounding them instead of killing them. If you kill a soldier outright, he falls dead to the ground and his comrades leave him there and keep advancing.
“But if you can just wound him, by blowing off his leg or filling his gut with shrapnel, then two or three of his buddies will stop to help him. They’ll administer first aid to him, try to stop the bleeding, and try to drag him back so he can be evacuated to a field hospital. And all the time the guy’s buddies are doing that, they’re unable to advance, or defend themselves. In fact, they are often times sitting ducks. Medics have always incurred heavy casualties in wartime. Even though the Geneva Convention says they are noncombatants, you can damn sure bet that the enemy doesn’t care. While they’re treating the wounded with no weapon in their hands, the enemy sees the red cross on their arm or their helmet and shoots them anyway.
“Anyway, my point is, that if we hurt some of them, it’ll slow the others down too, because somebody will have to help their wounded. But these guys won’t be medics. And they won’t be covered by the Geneva Convention. And I’ll have no qualms about sending them straight to hell.”
“It’s going to take an awful lot of screws to go all the way around the fence. And an awful lot of time.”
“I know. But we’ve got plenty of both screws and time. This time of year, there aren’t any crops to tend for. Typically on a ranch or farm, winter is the time of year when you keep yourself busy repairing equipment and caring for the livestock. And that’s really all you have to do, so you have a lot of free time on your hands. This is actually a good time to do this, and even if those yahoos never come back, it’s probably a good idea to do it anyway.”
-37-
It was a sight to see, for sure. It still resembled a police car in some respects, in that the light bar was still perched on its top, and the sides and hood were still painted in the black and white color scheme of the San Antonio Police Department.
The blue, white and gold shield-shaped badge still adorned both front doors.
But beyond that, the vehicle more resembled the 1921 Oldsmobile Roadster truck that the Clampett family took to the Hills of Beverly.
Every inch of the rooftop of the squad car was covered with sections of rain gutter, tied precariously into place with hemp rope. Across the car’s trunk were eight Hefty brand plastic garbage cans, one placed inside the other, and also tied down with rope.
Thrown across the back seat were locking lids for the trash cans, as well as several boxes of nails and four hammers.
Since winter had come to San Antonio, the SAPD had another pet project they were undertaking. There were no crops to care for, and all the harvesting had been done. Most of the bodies had been collected and burned, and dedicated crews from the fire department had agreed to take care of the rest of them.
San Antonio cops had suddenly found themselves with extra time on their hands.
At about that same time, Chief Martinez met with the San Antonio Water Board, which asked the chief to help them spread the word. A lot of the equipment at the water plant was still running at partial capacity due to damage it had suffered from the EMP. They were only able to produce a fraction of the water the city needed, and it would probably get worse before it got better.
“This past year, especially in the summer months when rainfall was limited, our citizens were using their tap water to irrigate their crops, and well as for cooking and drinking and bathing.
“We’re worried that if any more of the equipment breaks, we won’t be able to keep up with the demand this year. That we won’t be able to process enough safe water to provide the city’s needs.”
“Okay. Understood. So how can the SAPD help?”
“You’re our only means of getting the word out now since none of the radio or television stations are working. Your officers see the citizens on a daily basis. We’d like for them to start spreading the word to the citizens to start conserving water now, so we can fill our towers and have enough to get us through the hot summer months.”
“Summer’s still seven months away. Is it really imperative that we start conserving so early?”
“We need to be prudent. If we have a mild summer, with moderate temperatures and an average amount of rainfall, then we can muddle through it.
“But in our business it’s always a good idea to hope for the best and expect the worst. If this summer is extraordinarily hot and dry, and if we have drought conditions, we’ll be in big trouble. If we don’t conserve early and don’t have a reserve supply, the taps could run dry.
“Every single neighborhood crop in the city would wither and die. And the people would be starving.”
“Okay. Enough said. We’ll have our officers spread the word. Cut back on the showers and laundry. Use only the water you need for drinking and for cooking. Once we explain to them the reason why, I think they’ll willingly comply.
“After all, these are the survivors. The toughest of the tough. After all they’ve been through already, this shouldn’t be too bitter a pill for them to swallow.”
“Thank you, Chief.”
After the meeting, as he was walking back to his office, Chief Martinez had struggled with his thoughts.
There must be something
more the SAPD could do to help with the situation.
Then it dawned on him. If the San Antonio Water Board could hoard water over the coming months, perhaps the residents could too.
But first, he had to make sure his plan would work. So he told no one. Instead, he quietly took his assigned police car to a Home Depot near his home. He went to the outdoor section first and loaded down as many rain gutter sections as he could across the roof. He tied the pieces down by using rope to fasten then to the light bar.
Next came the trash cans, which he tied across the trunk of the car.
Luckily, he didn’t stumble across any of his patrol units as he drove from the Home Depot to a neighborhood garden a few blocks away. They likely would have thought him quite mad.
He’d driven onto the street, loaded down like a ridiculous moving van crossed with a cop car, and the street’s residents were quickly intrigued.
He introduced himself to the man who appeared to be the block leader.
“I’m Tony Martinez, the Chief of Police.”
They looked at him strangely, probably thinking he was actually an escaped lunatic who stole the police chief’s uniform.
But fortunately, they listened.
“The city water board says we need to conserve water for the coming summer months. They are expecting there to be a drought, and saying water will be too scarce to keep the crops alive.”
“So what’s your plan, Chief?”
“I want to hang gutters on four of your houses. We’ll have them drain into the trash cans every time it rains. Your people can keep the lids on them when it’s not raining, to keep the water from evaporating.
“Once we get the gutters up, we’ll position all eight of the trash cans underneath the down spouts. And we’ll have several months to fill them with water, before you start needing the water for your crops.
“All you have to do is remove the lids every time it starts to rain, and then put them back on when the rain stops.
“In the spring, when you plant the crops, use buckets or water pitchers to dip into the trash cans. Use that water to water your crops. Any time you water your crops, use the rain water first. Only use city water when the rain water is gone.
Rise From The Ashes: The Rebirth of San Antonio (Countdown to Armageddon Book 3) Page 14
