Fire From the Sky: Firestorm

by N. C. Reed

  “We've suffered a terrible calamity,” Holman went on. “Well over a thousand people dead in Peabody alone, Gordon. Many died on the day everything turned off, and more in the dark days that followed. Still more starved to death through the winter. It's been hard on us all. Some worse than others, though, looking at you and your farm,” Holman looked around theatrically.

  “We've done our own suffering and suffered our own losses,” Gordon's voice was brittle. “We've helped when and where we were able to and got nothing in return but threats and theft. So, I imagine we can relate just fine to your 'dark days'. Now supposed you stop all this grandstanding bullshit and tell me why you're here.”

  “Very well,” any pretense of friendliness evaporated as Holman's face turned ugly. “I've been elected as the Chairman for the Reconstruction Committee. We're in charge of rebuilding. But we can't go back to the way things were because, well, nothing works anymore. Or nothing much, anyway. In order to do that we're going to have to make some hard choices. Already have made some, in fact.”

  “I'm sure they caused you great pain,” Gordon had also dispensed with any pretense at this point, and sarcasm rolled thick with his words. “Funny, though. You don't seem to have suffered too much in those 'dark days' you were just grieving over, Hyatt.”

  “I was more fortunate than most I will admit,” Holman nodded. “We were well stocked when the disaster struck, and with careful rationing we managed to make it through the winter. But pretty much everything is gone, now. Everything in the city that is,” Holman's eyes narrowed slightly. “We're going to have to look outside of Peabody, now. Look outside to provide the resources to feed our citizens. Starting with big operations like yours, Gordon.”

  “Oh?” Gordon raised an eyebrow. “And just what does that mean?”

  “We're going to confiscate your herd, Gordon,” Holman's eyes showed that maliciousness again, though more than a hint, this time. This time it was a gleam of pure hatred.

  “We're going to confiscate your herd and your larder and carry it all back to Peabody to distribute to the hungry citizens there. You’ll be given a three-day supply for the people on your farm and issued ration books to come and get the same food allotment everyone else is allowed.”

  Clay listened to all of this with his microphone open, allowing everyone else to hear. He said nothing, allowing his father to deal with this. For once, there was no need to caution his father about giving things away or allowing anyone to strong arm the ranch. It had been a very long time since Clay had seen his father so worked up, though anyone who hadn't seen it before would not realize it from just looking and listening.

  “Leaving aside the fact that I would never give a worm like you the shit off my boots,” Gordon's voice was eerily calm, “just how would we manage to get to town so that you could magnanimously give us back our own food to eat?”

  “You'll have to work that out yourselves,” Holman sounded triumphant as he made that pronouncement. “Not my problem. And what makes you think, Gordon, that we’ll take no for an answer? I assure you we will be taking any and every thing we want from this farm.” There was definitely a hidden meaning in that statement if Clay had ever heard one.

  “Movement,” Jody Thompson's voice whispered in Clay's ear. “Movement across the road, even with the trucks but moving toward you, flanking the road. Two men, one rifle visible.”

  So that's it, Clay thought to himself. That's his play. It's like they all take their moves from the same book, somehow.

  “We're on it,” Tandi Maseo whispered in reply. “Moving east to intercept, opposite the farm.” Two clicks on the radio, probably from Jody, answered him.

  “Well, I tell you what, Hyatt,” Gordon was answering the challenge. “You go right ahead and you try. You ain't the first one to show up here since the lights went out thinking he was going to take something from me, and I dare say you won't be the last. And don't think I missed that little light in your eyes when you mentioned taking from me, either. We both know what your real problem here is, don't we now?”

  “I know that one of our collection crews was scheduled to come by here a few days ago and went missing,” Holman nodded grimly. “Naturally I assumed you had something to do with that, but to be honest there were more than enough men to make short work of you and your hired hand here,” Holman's eyes flickered to Clay and then dismissed him, returning to Gordon.

  “So, we sent out scouts and discovered that I was right. Our crew was ambushed out on the Interstate. Damn shame since we lost some good vehicles as well as several men. But they're all replaceable. Meanwhile, we're naturally running behind on our collections, but rest assured Gordon, we will get around to your little slice of heaven before long. And we will get whatever we want off this farm. Whatever we want,” he stressed again.

  “The only thing you'll take from this ranch is more bodies of your replaceable men, Hyatt,” Gordon was almost seething at this point, though his face still looked outwardly calm. “And I would give anything reasonable for you to be along with them when they come. It would give me great pleasure to see the life drain from your pig eyes.”

  Son-of-a-bitch does sort of have piggy eyes, doesn't he? Clay thought to himself. He hadn't noticed that before.

  “Movers are down,” Tandi whispered in his ear. “Heads up. These assholes had an excellent rifle and top-notch glasses. Likely meant as a sniper team.”

  “No other movement in the area,” Jody Thompson said softly. “Heath?”

  “Negative,” was the brief reply.

  “All stations be on the lookout for any movement,” Jose Juarez's voice filled the net. “Any unexplained movement should be reported at once. If you can't tell what's moving, call in. Acknowledge.” Clay ignored the various posts checking in Holman was replying to Gordon's last statement.

  “Ah, Gordon, I'm sure nothing would give you greater pleasure than to see me put down, but unfortunately I can't have you ruining things for me anymore. You're just too influential and too likely to cause a ruckus. Not to mention that you're not the only one that will gain pleasure in seeing the other one die. So unfortunately, you won't be around when I return, nor will your hired hand.” As he finished speaking he raised his right arm. Suddenly he dropped it and stood waiting.

  And waiting.

  And still more waiting.

  After fifteen seconds or so, Holman frowned and raised his arm again, dropping it in a sharp motion. His waiting still produced nothing.

  “If you're waiting for your sniper to shoot my father, you pig-eyed sack of shit, he's dead,” Clay spoke for the first time. “So is his spotter. And since I've finally figured out just what it is you keep talking about taking, you're about to follow 'em,” he continued, his rifle raising slowly but steadily.

  “Father?” Holman didn't quite stammer.

  “I'm Gordon and Angela's youngest son, Clayton,” Clay smiled, a rather scary sight at the moment his father decided.

  “The one who ran away and joined the Army?” Holman frowned deeper. “I didn't know you had come back.”

  “Must have slipped my mind when we talked last,” Gordon actually smirked. “Oh, wait. We never talk, do we. That must be because you're a low-life son-of-a-bitch that I can't stand. And if you think for a fucking instant that you're laying a single, greasy, blood-stained hand on my wife, I can promise you I will see you in hell first!”

  “Thought it must be something like that,” Clay nodded to himself. “So, Mister Holman, I don't think you're going to be the chairman more than another minute or two, tops. Got a good vice chairman? Someone who can take over the robbing and pillaging and raping and what not you've been in charge of up until now?”

  “I…” Holman's earlier arrogance was nowhere in evidence now. He looked down the road to where his two trucks had stopped and licked suddenly dry lips.

  “Too far away to help you,” Clay smiled. He had lowered his rifle and drawn a rather ugly looking knife. “So, this is where you leave
us, Mister Chairman,” he started forward. Gordon let him take three full steps before speaking.

  “No,” his simple command halted Clay in his tracks. “No, Clayton. I think we’ll stop here for today. It looks as if Hyatt's incontinence issues have already resurfaced,” he chuckled darkly as he looked at the man who could rightly be called his greatest enemy in life. Clay looked down to see Holman's crotch stained and damp now and couldn't help but laugh.

  “Well that changed in a hurry, didn't it?” he put his knife away despite his desire to slice Holman's throat. He would follow his father's instructions and hope it wasn't a mistake they would regret later.

  “If you're smart, Hyatt, you’ll start heading back to Peabody,” Gordon's voice was now flat and somewhat flinty. “And unless those two truckloads of thugs are also replaceable, take them with you. And feel free to come and try to take my herd, my food or my wife, assuming you have the balls. But know this; the next time your feet touch Sanders' land, you’ll be buried here in an unmarked grave along with whoever you bring with you. Now get the hell off my land. Now!” Holman started as the last word was almost shouted, deeply contrasted with Gordon's earlier tone.

  “This isn't over, Sanders,” Holman tried to regain the upper hand even as he made his way back to his car. “I will be back and you’ll crawl before you die. You hear me? Crawl!”

  “Let me just-” Clay started forward again but a hand on his arm stopped him.

  “No,” his father said once again. “We know who is running this show, now,” his father explained as Holman got into his car and the driver backed from the driveway. “We can plan for what that bastard will do. If you kill him, there's no way of knowing who will take his place. It's better to leave it for now.”

  “I take it he had his eyes on Mom at one time?” Clay asked as the car pulled away somewhat faster than it had arrived.

  “Worked that out, did you?” Gordon chuckled. “Yes, he did. It's a long story and not one I want to get into right now, but yes. He wanted your mother. Long story short, we basically fought for her. I won.”

  “You go, Dad,” Clay grinned. “Didn't know you had it in you.”

  “Lot you don't know about me, Son,” Gordon nodded.

  –

  “Hyatt Holman,” Angela shook her head slowly as Gordon and Clay relayed to her what had happened. “After all this time,” she sighed. It was a sort of pitying sound, Clay decided.

  “I guess his limp is worse now?” she asked Gordon, who nodded silently.

  “There has got to be a story worth hearing in there somewhere,” Clay leaned forward on the table.

  “Oh, well,” Angela shrugged. “Your father is the reason for that limp, Clayton. He and Hyatt never got along, and one day he made a remark or two he shouldn't have and your father, who had quite the temper in those days, stomped him flat as you kids would have said.”

  “Do tell,” Clay's eyes lit with merriment despite the situation.

  “Long time ago,” Gordon said. “I've come a good ways since then, thank you.”

  “That you have, dear,” Angela kissed his cheek and straightened his collar, annoying her husband on purpose.

  “During the fight your father pretty much broke Hyatt's knee,” Angela turned her attention back to her youngest son. “Had three of your father's friends not pulled him off, I dare say you'd not be here today, since your father would likely have still been in prison when you were conceived.” She actually giggled as she said it, and Clay didn't know what amazed him more; his mother giggling, or his father kicking someone's ass to the point he had to be dragged off them.

  “Well, that is some story,” he settled for saying. “I'm glad they were there to stop you, though, since I've mostly enjoyed being born.”

  “We enjoyed it too,” Angela hugged Gordon's neck and grinned impishly, further annoying Gordon.

  “Good God, woman, he's our son!” the old farmer objected. “Let’s not be talking of such things in front of him!”

  “I think he's figured out by now how he got here, Gordon,” Angela's sarcasm was thick as she went back to work. “Anyway, Clayton, that's the basics of the tale. Since then, Hyatt and your father have been the best of enemies in all things. Though I will state for the record that your father has never been the instigator in any of that. Hyatt Holman is just an asshole who can't stand the thought of losing anything he ever wanted.”

  “Wow,” Clay was shaking his head.

  “What?” his mother stopped and looked at him.

  “I don't think I've ever heard you use the word 'asshole' before,” he finally lost his battle with laughter and guffawed. His laughing lasted for several seconds until a large wooden spoon came crashing down on his head.

  “Ow!” he grabbed the top of his head with both hands. “What the hell was that for?” he demanded.

  “Making fun of your mother.”

  –

  “All right, we've seen the enemy and he is a jackass,” Clay began his 'briefing' on the situation. “Basically, this guy has it in for my father because he wanted my mother, and apparently still does. As a result, he has made our little slice of heaven his own personal pet project even while his men are stripping resources from everywhere else, too.”

  “Why did you let him leave here alive?” Nate Caudell asked, eyeing Clay carefully.

  “That was on Gordon,” Clay held his hand up. “But he was right. Letting Holman go lets us know who's in charge of this committee outfit. If I had killed him, then we wouldn't know who took his place. Dad and Holman apparently go way, way back, and he knows what he can expect from Holman, at least to a point. If he was replaced, then we'd be back to guessing…but I was going to before Gordon stopped me,” he admitted. Nate nodded in apparent satisfaction and leaned back in his chair.

  “Looking at what they've done so far, I don't think we can expect anything like a professional attack from this outfit. For one thing, they don't know what kind of outfit we have here, and Holman apparently doesn't realize just how many people are here, or what kind. That will work for us, at least the first time they come at us. After that, I don't know.”

  “Starting now, however, we're going to have to beef up our surveillance. We can't risk trying to get to town and I certainly don't want us separated, so from now on we’ll be manning our OPs on both ends of the road, and we’ll have to be cautious about our flanks as well. In my opinion, any attacker will try to come down the road, or at least stay near it. I should say, the first one. Once that fails, then I think that will be when we can expect attacks coming over land from behind us, or from behind the cabin area either one. We’ll start working on making that difficult for them starting tomorrow. Any suggestions on how to do that are welcome.”

  “For the time being, I suggest we get back to work on the defenses we've already put in place. We need to make sure we can get in and out of the observation points without being seen. Concealment will be a big help in making sure no one realizes we're watching them approach. For all we know, someone on their side will want to observe us a few days before attacking. If we let them see us, see our preparation, then we lose that edge to them. Anything else?”

  “We still have some cameras to set,” Tandi mentioned. “And we have the drones. They will help.”

  “True,” Clay nodded thoughtfully. “Anything else?”

  “We need to keep our training routine going tomorrow,” Nate said. “They're getting better, but that's not the same as 'good'.”

  “We can do half-days of training,” Clay agreed. “That will let us still get the majority of our chores done on time, or near enough to work. Now, before we split up, I want our positioning worked out so we all know where we're going to be, assuming we have the chance. There's always the possibility that we won't be able to get into position and have to fight from wherever we can, so be prepared for that, too. But, assuming we do have time for everyone to get there, I want…”

  –

  “Do you know what wild lett
uce looks like?” Deborah Webb asked.

  “Ah. . .not that I know of,” Patricia Sanders admitted. “I don't think I've even seen it.”

  “I have,” Angela nodded. “You're thinking about extracting the oil?” she asked.

  “Or boiling it for a poultice either one,” Deborah nodded.

  “What am I missing?” Kait Caudell asked, sitting across the table from Angela.

  “Wild Lettuce is a good pain reliever,” Angela replied. “At least that's what my mother taught me. I've never used it, but my mother was a wonder with home remedies. She learned a lot of it from her own mother.”

  “It is,” Deborah agreed. “And it's free. Trouble is we don't get it in any real quantity and this fire may or may not have impacted it. It's much more plentiful down into Alabama, but. . .I don't see us being able to get down there to harvest any.”

  “No, that's probably out,” Angela sighed. “We need to find some and then reduce it to seeds. If we can get a small crop growing in the green house then we won't have to worry about it next year, or year after for sure. By then our modern pain relievers will either be running low or losing their potency.”

  “What else can we use for that?” Patricia made a note on her pad. “Other than marijuana, which we're already planting.”

  “We are?” Angela asked, frowning.

  “We are,” Kaitlin nodded. “While socially it may be frowned on, the fact is that marijuana has a great many uses, chief among them as an analgesic.”

  “I can't see someone lighting up for pain relief,” Angela looked dubious.

  “Doesn't have to be smoked, and in fact that is the least favorable way to use it,” Kaitlin shook her head. “The best way is to compress it into wafer form and simply take it orally. It's not morphine, but it's a lot better than nothing, and not nearly as addictive, either.”

  “Really,” Angela's face took on a more interested look. “That would be valuable to people who are in chronic pain, wouldn't it,” she spoke as much to herself as to the others.