by Bobby Akart
She collapsed to the ground again and cried uncontrollably. Bessie and Emily moved to her side and looked towards Colton. A sadness enveloped the father’s body as the stinging words soaked into his core. He not only had to deal with the loss of his daughter, but his wife placed the blame squarely on his shoulders.
Stubby stepped forward. First, he turned to Chase. “Young man, I want you to get your horse some water and then ride up to Lizzie’s place and tell her what happened. We’ll need her new men to help. On the way back, stop by the Wyatts’ and tell them the same thing. Explain that it will be only for tonight and it’s a security risk we’ll have to take.”
Javy moved into the group with one of his guys. Stubby provided him similar instructions. “Javy, pull all the men off the perimeter and bring them to the main house by dark. Tell them to bring their families.” Stubby wanted to hunker down in the center of the ranch for the night.
Then he turned his attention to Madison and crouched in front of her. “Madison, please look at me.”
She whimpered and raised her head to Stubby’s face. Bessie pulled her hair back, and Emily dabbed her tears with her sleeve.
“Now listen here, young lady. God didn’t bring you and your family through this storm just to drop one of you in a puddle. God will protect Alex while she’s in danger. He will guide us as we get her back too. Do you believe that?”
Madison nodded her head.
Stubby took her hands in his and smiled. “Sometimes God calms the storm, and sometimes He lets it rage and calms His child. You stay calm, Madison. Pray for her safety and pray for all of us as we get her back to you.”
Madison smiled again and looked past Stubby towards Colton, whose face was covered in tears. She stood on her own and opened her arms to him. The two parents embraced. They’d been through so much and now the young girl they’d brought into the world, the precious child they’d held in their arms since she was born, and who they promised to hold in their hearts forever, was in trouble.
Madison and Colton needed to find strength in God, and each other, to weather this storm.
Chapter 29
5:00 p.m., November 1
Shiloh Ranch
The barn was filled to capacity. Stubby didn’t realize how many men he had within his charge until they were all gathered in one place. They were platoon strength in terms of numbers, but they were far from a fighting force. These men who were ready to risk their lives to retrieve Alex had the fortitude of any Army Ranger Stubby had served with.
Prior to formulating a plan, he debated the magnitude of his attack. Chase was not entirely wrong in his assessments during the moment Alex was taken. One wrong move could’ve easily resulted in her being killed by Junior’s men just to be rid of the extra baggage.
Likewise, if he came on too strong this evening, Junior might react and kill Alex out of spite. Stubby had visions of her body being dumped into the Tennessee River to take the fight out of the enemy. Demoralizing your attacker was an excellent defense in guerilla warfare and he didn’t doubt that Junior would employ the tactic.
Stubby decided to use subterfuge as his plan of attack. Success would depend on predicting Junior’s reaction and the ability of Colton to reunite with his friends—Coach Carey and the Tiger Resistance.
“There are several aspects of my plan to save our girl,” started Stubby, addressing Colton, Jake and Chase, who were sitting on a fence rail next to Snowflake. Javy had taken two men to scout the area where Alex was taken and to retrieve her prized horse. “We have to get you three across the river safely. Unfortunately, that depends upon the reliability of a boat sitting on the back of a trailer up at the RV park. Chase assures me that it runs, and we need enough fuel to get her across the river.”
“I’ve got a five-gallon can here,” said Jake. “However, I have no idea what the ethanol mix is. It may be bad for the outboard motor.”
“If it’s E10, ten percent ethanol, it should be fine,” offered John Wyatt. “E15 might lead to engine failure or damage to the components over time. I don’t think it will seize or anything like that. You should be good for a couple of trips.”
“I think it’s fine,” said Stubby. “We live in the country, where folks don’t care about stuff like ethanol content. Most of the gas pumps around here are still pumpin’ the good stuff.”
Stubby had created a map of the area from Shiloh Ranch up to the bridge crossing to Savannah. The deteriorating wood barn board was spray painted in black, indicating roads and boundaries, and then there were several white arrows added. Stubby pulled a machete off the wall to use as a pointer.
“The Wagoneer will act as a diversionary tactic here,” said Stubby, pointing to the white arrows leading across the bridge and facing Savannah. “We’ll approach the checkpoint, and after I exchange signals with you guys, we’ll open fire to engage Junior’s men.”
“Won’t they recognize the truck?” asked Madison, who had entered through the back of the barn unnoticed. “If they haven’t already, they’ll instantly associate our Wagoneer with Alex. They might kill her.”
Stubby approached Madison. “I’ve thought about this. Junior’s pissed off at all of y’all. If he puts two and two together, which in Junior’s world equals three, Alex will become a bartering tool rather than another conquest for the Durhams’ evil ways. I think this might help keep her alive because he will use her as a bargaining tool to get to you guys.”
“Okay, I want to go, then. Let them see me and maybe I can trade myself for Alex. I’m the one that drove that day. It’s me they want.”
“Madison, I’m sorry, but that ain’t happenin’. They want all of you, and then they’ll want to get at us for helping you. Let’s not compound our problem by putting you in the middle of this mess.”
Madison hung her head and then looked toward Colton. She nodded and allowed Stubby to continue.
“After you guys give me the signal, we’ll open fire. This will draw Junior’s men to the western part of town. Also, I plan on giving you enough cover to get the boat across and up Mud Branch to Riverfront Drive. You’ll ditch the boat and find your way by following Town Branch. You remember where to go from there, right, Colton?”
“Yes. Based upon what you’ve described to me, Town Branch was the creek I followed before I stumbled onto the Carey property. It makes sense that it would meander all the way to the river. This will give us cover and a path to the right location.”
Jake and Chase, anxious to get started, jumped off the fence. Stubby handed out the two-way radios that the Rymans had brought with them, as well as a couple of his own.
“Tell me again how you plan on communicating with this Coach Carey fella,” said Stubby.
Colton took the radio and began to scroll the dials. “I’ve been trying to pick up chatter on the radio this afternoon, but we’re too far away. Coach Carey has Tigers everywhere. They watch Junior and his men virtually twenty-four seven. If they saw the Chevelle with Alex in it, they’re probably mounting a rescue of their own.”
“We don’t want to trip over each other,” said Stubby.
“That’s why I insisted on going after Alex now,” continued Colton. “I realize it would make more sense to sneak up on them in the early morning hours, but time is not on our side.”
“Tell us about their radio communications system, Colton,” said Jake.
“Each day, a different channel is selected based upon a player’s jersey number. The decision is made by Coach Carey and communicated to all the Tiger Resistance by one of his boys, Beau, Jimbo, or Clay. They’ve divided the town into four sections. North of Highway 64 is blue and south is deemed red. West of County Road 128, where their headquarters is located, is referred to as left, and the east side is right.”
“So red left would be the southwest corner of the town where you’ll land with the boat,” said Stubby.
“Exactly. Now, after that, I know very little. They had a safe house on Twenty-Fifth Street, which was labeled 25.
If they plan on creating a diversion at a specific location, they use the term pull trap.”
“What does that mean?” asked Jake.
“Coach Carey explained it to me. In football, it means that the offensive guard is going to step behind the line and move down the line to block for a running back. In Coach Carey’s scheme, it means that the diversions will pull Junior’s men away from the real location of their operation.”
Stubby stuck the machete in a log next to his map. “Brilliant. We’ll pull Junior’s men to the west entrance of town. Coach Carey and his Tigers can pull them in any number of directions. All we need to do is locate Alex.”
John Wyatt stepped forward. “There are two logical places to start. The first is the County Jail. Junior hangs out there most of the time and coordinates his men. The other, which is also likely if they figure out who Alex is, would be Cherry Mansion.”
“What’s that?” asked Madison.
“Cherry Mansion is a historic, antebellum home that’s been in Bill Cherry’s family since before the Civil War,” replied Stubby. “Rumor has it that Ma and Bill took up with each other and she moved in the place.”
“That’s what we’ve heard too,” said Wyatt. “It’s just over the bridge and sits high up on a bank overlooking the river. Beautiful place.”
“I know where it is,” said Jake. “Emily and I went on a tour there when we first bought the ranch. It’s a beautiful home.”
“Well, now it’s occupied by Ma and it could be a place they might hide Alex,” said Stubby.
Colton stepped forward and held up the radio. “Once you start shooting at the checkpoint, we’ll hurry across the river. I’ll monitor the radio for chatter from the Tigers and you should do the same. Remember the codes they use and think football. You’ll figure out what they’re up to.”
“Colton, how are you gonna get home?” asked Madison. She hugged her husband and looked for reassurance.
“The same way we came, or we’ll cross somewhere farther south. We’ll be home, all of us. I promise.”
Chapter 30
6:00 p.m., November 1
Hardin County Detention Center
Savannah
The administrative wing of the Hardin County jail contained Junior’s offices. The jail, or the more politically correct title of Detention Center, was also part of the complex. On any given day prior to the collapse, several hundred inmates would be held within the complex. Most were serving short-term prison sentences of less than one year for minor crimes. Others were awaiting their trial date without bond. The complex would be bustling with activity as inmates were booked or released, and lawyers hustled in and out of meetings with their clients.
On that fateful night when zero hour came and the nation was thrust into darkness, the jail had been emptied. All the prisoners’ sentences had been commuted by Sheriff Junior Durham in exchange for an oath of loyalty.
Those who were serving out their short-term sentences for petty crimes were provided the opportunity to continue their activities as employees of Sheriff Durham. They were given a free pass, so they looted for the sheriff. The entrance to the Detention Center began to resemble a successful Second Harvest food donation drive. Junior had to feed a new army of deputies, and the townspeople needed to donate to the cause. Besides, their hunger would create a dependent class of citizenry who were useful in many ways.
Junior also utilized the worst of the inmates within his charge. The Hardin County judicial system had its share of violent criminals as well. Virtually all men, these inmates had charges that included some form of violence or use of a weapon. They were either awaiting trial, sentencing, or transport to a higher security facility within the Tennessee State Prison system.
Politicians and leaders in law enforcement often discussed ways to reduce the rate of recidivism—an ex-con’s potential to relapse into criminal behavior. The recidivism rate in the United States was nearly eighty percent. Four out of five ex-cons returned to a life of crime prior to the collapse. The rest were seen as success stories.
Sheriff Durham crafted his own solution to the high recidivism rate—do away with the laws. “It’s quite simple,” he had quipped. “No laws, no criminals.”
The night the solar storm was hurtling towards earth, Junior conducted employment interviews in each of the jail cells of his violent inmates. These men swore allegiance in exchange for freedom. Junior announced they’d become newly appointed Hardin County sheriff’s deputies.
And just like that, the Hardin County Detention Center was emptied of its prisoner population. It was the single biggest act of pardons and commutations since the departure of the last U.S. president from office.
Junior studied the whiteboards hanging in the conference room adjacent to his office. One of his assistants kept close tabs on the city’s residents. Junior wanted to have information on everyone, and he frequently used his newly minted deputies for this task. They were not shy about kicking open doors and counting heads, or bustin’ them as necessary.
The workforce at the Vulcan Quarry totaled seven hundred, give or take. As their partners in Pulaski insisted on increased production, some of the women in town who ordinarily worked the fields were being used to quarry the lignite. He held back the younger women, of course, for his deputies’ entertainment.
One board contained a hand-drawn map of the county with its dozens of small, unincorporated municipalities. This whiteboard constituted his search grid for the family that caused him embarrassment and loss of respect with some of his men. He was always aware that those within his command might make a play for power. He had to keep a pulse on his army of miscreants, or one night his throat could be slit, along with Ma’s.
“Let go of me!” shouted a female voice in the hallway. Junior quickly turned to the sound of the commotion. A teenage girl, a pretty one, tried to wiggle away from two of his scouts assigned to the western part of the county in the search for what he knew as the Dalton family.
“Shut up, girl. Show some respect for the sheriff of Hardin County.”
“Well, boys,” said Junior. Junior walked closer to Alex and pretended to smell her. “Looks to me like you caught a wildcat and a pretty one at that. She’s not gamey like the others. Well kept.”
Alex backed away from Junior and he began to laugh. “Well, there’s some fire in this one. She’ll need to be housebroken, if you know what I mean.” The men laughed as Alex continued to writhe in their grasp.
“Whadya want us to do with her?” asked one of Alex’s captors.
“Shift meeting is comin’ up and we need to finish cleaning those refugee vermin out of those homes on the west side. Let’s get everybody rollin’ on that and then we’ll examine our new friend a little closer. Get to know one another and all, right?”
“You got it, Sheriff. We’ll put her in the holding cell down the hall.”
Junior returned to the conference room, where the leaders of the operation were gathering to exchange notes about their progress. Junior had finally tired of the constant stream of refugees approaching the western checkpoint, begging for food and shelter. Ma didn’t like her view of the Tennessee River being spoiled by a bunch of homeless in tents and cardboard lean-tos.
That morning, just before dawn, a couple dozen of Junior’s men conducted a sweep of the two small neighborhoods on both sides of the bridge on the west bank of the river. There were no specific orders other than to run them off or kill them off. It didn’t matter to Junior.
“Let the refugees go pester the ranchers and farmers for food,” he’d said. “I’m sure they’ve got plenty.”
The meeting was under way, and the consensus was that they could mop up the remaining stragglers by the end of the next day. As for the future, this was the second step in taking control of West Hardin County with its abundance of farmland and livestock. The first step was burning out Adamsville. A clear message in the spirit of cooperation, Durham-style, was sent on that day.
“If we can cl
ear them out of Bridge Water Estates too, then we can seal off the intersection of 64 and 22 …”
The words trailed off as Junior’s mind wandered to the confrontation with the Dalton family that day. He had been driving the old sixties model Ford Galaxie 500 toward the intersection. They were going to intercept the two women who’d evaded his deputies’ pursuit, which landed one of their cars in a swimming pool.
He visualized speeding toward the intersection when the lead chase vehicle spun out of control and hit a tree. No matter. I was in position and ready to take the shot.
“We’ll rendezvous at the western checkpoint at oh-six-hundred and finish the job. Now, boys, no drinkin’ or carousin’ tonight. We need clear heads in the mornin’.”
Junior recalled starting to draw his pistol. He’d planned on shooting out the windshield, causing the driver to crash. He’d wanted them alive—to administer his own form of punishment.
It was the blonde hair flowing out of the passenger-side window that caught his eye first. Then it was the muzzle of the assault rifle spitting round after round into the old Ford. He’d ducked beneath the fender but managed to make eye contact with the driver. The exploding front tires of the Galaxie caused Junior to hit the pavement, but he followed the Wagoneer with his eyes as it eased past the wreckage. The passenger of the Wagoneer had turned and looked in his direction.
“I’ll be dogged,” muttered Junior, who bolted out of the conference room without saying a word. Several of the men briefly followed as Junior jogged down the hallway toward the holding cell.
Alex sat defiantly in a dark corner of the cell, holding her knees up to her chest. Junior couldn’t see her face because the auxiliary lighting from the hallway didn’t shine into the corner where Alex was huddled.
“Stand up,” ordered Junior.
Alex didn’t move.
“Come over here, now!” he yelled as a crowd of curious deputies began to surround him.
