Our federal government has set in place regulations and tax policies that have killed manufacturing and small businesses in our country. So when kids graduate from high school, or even college, they have no future. They can't get a job in the factory or the mill or the mine, because there aren't any more factories, mills or mines. So with no future, too many young men and women turn to government dependence and drugs, inner-city Baltimore or rural Pennsylvania, it's the same story.
These boys that shot at us are meth heads. Heroin addicts generally want to be left alone. They don’t cause trouble until they need more money for their next hit. That’s when they'll kill their own mom for twenty bucks. Unfortunately, we have seen that happen right in our back yard.
Still watching to our rear, I see a truck scream off the bridge and head up behind us.
"Kenny, Jerry, here they come. Everyone get down! Now!" Last second thinking has me pull over to the left lane, that forces them to pull back to the right lane and pass us unexpectedly on the right. No shots are fired as I see bodies and guns jostling in the back of the truck from the unexpected maneuver.
There is a sharp turn and bridge about two miles ahead, to cross the river again, about a mile before Hooversville, and maybe safety. We saw the last group of shot-up people on a bridge. I pull over. Time to think this out.
"Britt, you got Grace bandaged up?"
"As best I can for now, those friggin’ assholes shot him in the arm! I got the bleeding stopped but he needs stitches."
"Okay, guys, we have to cross another bridge about two miles up the road. These meth heads are going to be sitting there. My guess is, they shot up those folks we saw at the last bridge. They already got a sense of anarchy, the smell of blood. Going around will send us smack into the Flight 93 crowd and we will not get through that without losing the van and everything we carry. That’s not an option. We got to showdown with these meth heads."
"Mark! They already shot Grace, and they killed those people we passed!" Britt says vehemently. "We can't go through them, find another way!"
"That's not an option, Britt, we have to take these crazy bastards out. We have to set up a plan to cross that bridge."
"We can do this, Mark," comes a voice from the back. "I saw you got your Remington 700 with a 3 x 12 scope in the back. If they are standing open on that bridge, I can shoot them," Kenny calmly states from the back seat. "I know the bridge you're talking about. Get me within two hundred yards and I can shoot them. It’s a clear path, I know, because of the drop off to the river."
I turn around and look at Kenny, always nice and kind "Kenny". He looks at me, his face gets hard, his lips turn grim, his eyes narrow. "They shot my son." I have never heard words spoken with such determination and dark passion. "I've shot competition, I can shoot them."
His eyes are so hard, there is no way I can say no. We make a plan. Ken will be on the roof of the van, nestled in the luggage. We will pull to within two hundred yards. I will get out and offer them peace, but let them know they have drawn blood and we mean business. Jerry will have the shotgun and Britt will have the AR in the back seat. She has shot it before and we give her a quick refresher course. If we have to run the bridge, we will. We figure they can only block the middle. We will run it on the left and deal with any injuries and damage to the van later.
We pull up another mile and the bridge comes in sight. I pull up to about two hundred yards short of the bridge. The truck is sitting there, pulled across the bridge, mainly across the right hand lane. I step out of the van, staying behind the door for at least some minimal protection. Without looking up, I ask Kenny if he has a clear view.
"Got 'em," he states tersely.
"Yo to the bridge!" I holler. "We need to get to Central City, we need to cross this bridge."
"You have to pay a toll to cross the bridge." A large man bellows back. We hear some distant snickering and laughing.
"What's the toll?" I holler.
"I have them scoped," Kenny says from atop the van "I can hit four of them from here."
"Your women, to start!" responds the large man.
"You already took some of my grandson's blood. I ain't takin' too kindly to anymore negotiatin'. Move your vehicle now and all is forgiven."
I hear a gunshot and a tink as it ricochets off the pavement, five feet to my left.
"Son-of-a-bitch!" I exclaim as I hear the 30-06 boom from the top of the van. The shooter drops to the road. Before I can say anything else, the 30-06 booms three more times. The talker, and the two in the back of the truck drop, too. The one that was still standing in the road, and the driver that was still in the truck, are already running. The loud report rings one more time, and the one who was driving drops to the ground also.
Ken climbs down from the top of the van, grimness expressed across his face. He deliberately reloads the rifle as he gets in the van. Britt looks at him, half horrified, half with respect and adoration. I am sure the adoration is going to overtake the horrified part. A man did what he had to do to protect his family. That is to be admired. They drew first blood, and tried to draw second blood even when we offered peace. I have a clear conscience. I hope Ken does, too.
I glance at Ken as I get in. There is a steely distant stare in his eyes. Not sinister, but harsh, angry. He doesn't look at anyone, not me, not his kids, not even his wife. He just stares blankly ahead.
I put the van in gear and slowly head towards the bridge. The tension in the van is stifling. I begin reciting out loud, from memory "The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want. He makes melie down in green pastures, He leads me beside still waters." Others in the van join in as best they can. "He restores my soul, and leads me in the paths of righteousness. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me, thy rod and thy staff comfort me. Thou prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. Thou anoint my head with oil, my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all of my days, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever." We finish the 23rd Psalm together, a bit disjointedly. I don't know where that came from. I have not recited the whole psalm in over 40 years. We all know parts of it. Many recite it in Sunday school as kids. But, the Lord moves us when needed. I glance in the mirror. Ken is sobbing, everyone is crying. Tears are rolling down my cheeks, too.
As we cross the bridge, I make a few swerves around the bodies, two are still alive. Some in the van are staring at the men on the ground, some are deliberately staring straight out the front window. I can see that Jerry is scanning for threats. I start to think he is a veteran, maybe the Persian Gulf in 1992.
"Stop!" Ken commands as we finish crossing the bridge, passing the truck and the men he just shot. "We have to help them. At least two are still alive. We can't just leave them here."
"Ken, we can't!" I say. "These guys are killers! We can let someone in Hooversville know and they can come clean this up, if they want to."
"No, Mark, we'll clean it up. I'll clean it up. Stop now." And I stop.
"Slow up there, Ken," says Jerry. "One of them ran off and we don't know if these guys are still armed. Let's move real slow, and be ready if one of them pulls a handgun. I'll stand watch. Mark, you and Ken go see what you can do. Check the driver for keys to the truck, we'll use that to carry them."
"I'm going with you," says Linc. A quick look at his determined face lets me know not to argue. I hand him my 9mm as I grab my AR15. Ken looks at me and grabs the other AR15. His eyes have dried, and I can see he is already thinking more clearly, but he is probably still in shock from what he just did.
I check the pulse on the first one we come to. I have never looked at a dead body. He is lying on his back, shot in the chest, center mass. He is lying in a pool of blood. I turn away quickly after stepping in his sticky blood and feeling his already cold neck. I dry heave for several seconds, but my stomach is empty. My eyes water to the point that I can't see. I hear someone else retching, too. As I clear my ey
es I see that it is Linc. Ken comes over and gives me a hand up from my knees. His face is ashen and he has tears in his eyes again, but also a grim look of determination.
Regaining my composure, I look at him and say, "Thanks, sorry 'bout that. Let's get on with this." Jerry has walked over to us, while still keeping an eye out, and hands us each a bottle of water. I gladly slug down half a bottle, trying to rid myself of the taste of bile in my mouth. Jerry returns to the van and stands guard as we continue on.
We don't stop to check the pulse of the second body, no need to. He was the first one shot, through the head, lying in a pool of blood. The next one is breathing, lying on his back, clutching his upper abdomen, dark blood oozing through his fingers. I get queasy again but manage to keep from heaving. He's trying to say something but he can't, no words come from his barely moving lips. We keep moving on, almost trance-like. How can we help the man? What can we do? We all seem to know without saying anything that he is already dead, bleeding out on the road, shot through the liver.
The fourth man is dead too, another center mass chest shot. We pass him by. We are coming up to the driver, who ran. He is trying to pull himself along, trying to get off to the side of the road. He is gut shot. He looks at us with terror in his eyes.
"I'm sorry man! I didn't mean no harm. I was just out ridin' with the boys, and with all the craziness going on… I'm sorry, it just got out of control. Help me! Please! Help me."
"We're going to help you," says Ken. "We'll take you to Hooversville. Hopefully there's a doctor there who can help you. We need the keys to your truck so we can take you there."
"No! Not Hooversville!" the young man exclaims. "Take me to Johnstown, they won't like me in Hooversville. I don't think they'll help me. You gotta take me to Johnstown. Or Windber! You can take me to Windber, please! But not Hooversville! They won't help me there."
"I got the keys, they're in the truck," hollers Link. "I'll back it over there."
Moments later I lower the tailgate and my eyes open a bit wide. Ken looks in too. "Whoa! These boys were ready for world war three!" He exclaims.
"Linc, the bed is full of guns and ammo. Back this thing up to the van so we can get it unloaded." I holler. We quickly load up ammo cans and weapons, some liquor and a couple cases of beer, too. I don’t even try to figure out what all is there. I want to get moving before more people come along.
We load the four dead bodies in first, then the driver, who is still alive. Jerry hollers that a group of stragglers are coming down the road and we should get moving. We have Linc drive the pickup with Ken as shotgun. Jerry and I load back into the van. I leave what's left of our last case of water in the middle of the road for the stragglers heading this way. What are they going to think? I wonder. They had to have heard the shooting, saw us load these bodies into the truck, and now they'll find a case of water amidst this grisly scene of still fresh pools of blood.
The ladies and kids start asking questions as we get started down the road. We try to answer them as best as possible. The group of stragglers tries to string across the road to stop us. I lay on the horn and step on the gas. They move. We left them water. There is not much more I can do. That commotion quiets everyone down. We climb a large hill just before we get to Hooversville, and as we crest the hill, we see another roadblock. This is not a checkpoint like the one next to the church in Bens Creek. This is four vehicles across the road with armed men, tense and angry by the looks of it. We pull over a hundred yards short of the roadblock.
"Yo to the roadblock, we mean no harm and wish to travel to Central City." I holler.
"That’s the truck!" I hear someone yell. Whoa, not good.
"Hey, you drugged out killin' bastards" someone else yells and I see firearms being raised.
Lord, be with me! I step from behind the door and wave my hands above my head, a universal distress signal. I wish I had a white towel, but no time for that now.
"Stop! Stop! Stop! Peace! Peace! Peace!" I yell as loud as I can. "That ain't us! Stop! Stop! Stop! Peace! Peace! Peace!"
I see weapons lowered a bit at my frantic yelling and waving. ‘Thank you, Lord!’ I don’t think they expected to see a short-haired, gray bearded man yelling Peace!
"I know what you mean about that truck behind me!" I yell. "They attacked us, too." No wonder the guy didn't want to go to Hooversville. "We dealt with them, let me approach, I am unarmed." I see a few of them talking amongst themselves, some of it agitated, animated, some of it calm. A man about my age steps forward, and lets me know to come forward.
I walk on up and we meet about twenty-five yards from their roadblock. I extend my hand and say, "Mark Mays, from Central City."
"Chris Speigle, Fire Chief," he responds, shaking my hand firmly. "That truck back there, it's been shootin' up the town. They robbed the bank, the pharmacy and two bars. At least eight people been killed by them. What do you mean you dealt with 'em? You almost got shot, but for your crazy antics!"
"They tried shootin' us up too, then they set an ambush for us." I say. "But we dealt back better than they could give out." I look to the sky and say sincerely, "Thank you, Lord." Looking back at Chris I say. "Four of them are dead in the back of the truck, one was still alive, but he is gut shot. Pleaded with me not to take him here, now I know why.
"I got my family with me that I picked up in Johnstown this morning and we're trying to get back to my farm in Central City. Johnstown is a mess, shootin's and several big fires. Came this way to avoid the crowds stuck at the Flight 93 Memorial. Walk back with me and you can check us over."
He sizes me up, wisely. He turns back to the men at the roadblock, "This man here says they dealt with the Wagerlys, that they're dead in the truck. I'm going out to check things over. You all stay calm, but keep alert. And don’t let none of them stragglers through 'til we get this cleared up. If them Wagerlys are still out there, them stragglers will get kilt, sure as daylight."
We walk together out to our little caravan. I tell him about the drive-by shooting, the dead stragglers and our final run-in on the last bridge. When we get to the truck, he looks in the bed. The driver is still alive. He looks at Chris, "No! No! Chris! I didn’t know that was Jennifer! I'm so sorry! I told you not to take me to Hoovers…" BANG! He didn't get out the last word as Chris has shot him in the head with his 357 S&W revolver.
I jump back, Jerry jumps out with his AR15, and Ken jumps out, too.
"Calm down, everyone!" Chris bellows with authority, as he sees armed men emerge from the van and truck. "Jennifer was my daughter," he says softly. We lower our weapons. He turns, and starts walking back.
I can hear him sobbing softly, as he slowly makes his way down the road. I quickly catch up to him and put my arm around him. He turns to me slowly, tears rolling down his cheeks. I embrace him and he lets his weight fall on me, both physically and spiritually. He has lost a daughter, and now he feels as if he has lost his soul. I whisper to him that God is a graceful God, That God loves him even now. "I don't know if there is a God, Mark. I don't know if there is a God." He steps back and as he turns to head back down the road he says, "Bring your people up. You're okay."
I walk back to where Ken is standing, the steely distant stare is back. "You tried to do good, son, you tried to do good. Let it go. Your son was shot and survived. His daughter was killed by that man, many people were killed by those men. Let it go, Ken. You did the right thing, a hard thing, but the right thing." He nods, his face unchanged, and turns to get in the truck. I load up and we pull up to the roadblock.
===============================================================
At the roadblock, I tell everyone to stay in the van except Jerry, who steps out with his shotgun held low but ready. Ken and Linc stay in the truck, Ken is still steely eyed.
"That's dem damn Wagerlys! Hot damn, man! Holy shit, you killed five of ‘em!" exclaims a younger man as he looks in the bed of the truck. As he continues looking at the death and gore, his face turns ashen and
he runs to the side of the road, heaving up his lunch, clutching his stomach.
An older man steps up to me, "So, Chris says you kilt five of them but one ran off into the woods. They robbed my bar, kilt my son and a good worker of mine." He turns and spits. "Those hyped-up boys were runnin' crazy. They used to drink at my place sometimes, but last night and this morning, they just started runnin' crazy." He shakes his head and spits again. "I never thought them boys was that bad, but they sure turned bad. Guess they figured wasn't no law to stop ‘em. I gotta thank you, sir. They kilt my son. The power goes out and people turn bad, ain't right." He looks down and shakes his head. "We set up here and at the other end of town and up on Hill Road too. Needed to do something to stop 'em."
Chris, the fire chief, walks over with a few other men as the bar owner is talking. When the man finishes, I turn to Chris. "What do I do with these bodies? Can you and your men help us bury them?"
"We been talking bout that. They aint gettin’ buried, not here, but we'll take ‘em off the truck fer ya. We was wonderin' what ya found in the truck?" Chris asks.
I was kind of expecting this question, the truth is always the best answer. "We found several weapons, five or six rifles and shot guns and a few hand guns. There was also a lot of ammo and some liquor and beer. We loaded it into the van and trailer. I'll show ya, follow me."
"No need, friend," Chris responds. "We're not worried about the guns and ammo in your hands. We talked about it, and a well-armed friend is a good friend. How ‘bout drugs? Did you find any drugs, pills, meth, heroin? We're more worried about that stuff."
"We didn't search for that kind of stuff. It could be under the seat, anywhere. Let’s check it over while your men get the bodies off the truck. You seem to be playing the long game, letting us keeping the guns, Chris, you know what happened don't you?"
Righteous Gathering: Book 1 of the Righteous Survival EMP Saga Page 11
