by Bobby Akart
“I know,” said Randy with a sigh. “I don’t care what the good people of Harrison County think. Hell, most of ’em wouldn’t know what we’re doin’ anyway. But we needed Jo to agree, or at least acknowledge, that we’re within the bounds of the law.”
Billy snorted and mocked his sister. “Optics be damned!” He raised his coffee mug as if to toast his brother.
Randy got down to business. “You’ve got a list of target properties, I take it?”
“I do. Mainly large farming operations. A couple of them are adjacent to your place.”
“Good, I like it. Do all of them have notes comin’ due like the Boones?”
“Yeah, between now and the end of the year,” replied Billy. He swelled with pride as he explained how he’d carried forward his father’s banking practices. “Daddy never wanted to be locked into an interest rate long term, especially when they’ve been low like in the last decade. Of course, the borrowers wanted thirty-year mortgages and such, but I told them the bank wasn’t able to do that. Sure, these farmers could contact Quicken, Lending Tree, or some such, but their credit didn’t support those conventional mortgages. That’s where I come in. Most of ’em continued to do these five-year balloon notes ’cause that’s what they’ve always done.”
Randy stood and approached the side table holding the coffee pot. As he refilled it, he glanced out his office window and saw a small crowd of inmates gathering in the recreation yard. “As they come due, are you gonna foreclose all of them?”
“Depends,” Billy replied. “If they’ve been good to us, I’ll return the favor but maybe get a little some-somethin’ out of them. If they have a property that we could use or if they’ve been assholes like the Boones, they get a letter and a big old foreclosure notice nailed to their front door.”
Randy mumbled, “Sounds like a plan.”
Billy noticed that his brother had become preoccupied by something outside, so he stood to join his brother by the window. “What are you gonna do with your overflowing inmate population of twelve?”
Randy pointed toward them with his coffee cup. “Well, I’m gonna offer the females a work-release opportunity out at my place. After the divorce, I kinda found out I’m not much for cleanin’ and cookin’.”
“And sleepin’ alone,” added Billy with a laugh.
“Well, that too. The older woman was strung out, but she cleaned up while in county lockup. She’s got nobody and lives up in Terra Haute. She’ll handle the domestic chores in exchange for room and board. The younger girl, also strung out before we got her off the drugs the last six months, used to do tricks for meth. We busted her during a routine traffic stop. She’ll handle all the other duties, if you know what I mean.”
“How are you gonna keep ’em from runnin’ off?” asked Billy.
“Well, I guess if they try hard enough, they’ll bolt,” Randy replied. “I keep a deputy at the house twenty-four seven just like I set up for you and Jo. Truthfully, I plan to treat ’em right, hopin’ they’ll stick around.”
Billy finished his coffee and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his khakis. He’d abandoned his custom-made pinstripe suits for the casual Friday look of khakis, a button-down shirt tucked in, and Bass loafers.
“What about the guys?”
“That’s what I wanna talk to you about,” began Randy. “I’ve heard rumors that the locals want to set up a town market. You know, where they trade things of value for food, guns, and pretty much anything they need.”
“A barter system,” added Billy.
“Right. Mainly, people need food. By the time word got out that the president was gonna pull the plug on the power grid, the shelves at the grocery stores and Walmart were beginning to empty. The ones who didn’t have the money or who were too lazy to get to the store to stock up are now lookin’ for a way to get fed.”
“What’re you thinkin?” asked Billy.
Randy left the window and made his way to a map of Harrison County behind his desk. “In my opinion, there shouldn’t be any new business enterprise in this town that the Clark family doesn’t have an interest in. If this market’s gonna happen, it needs to be regulated. Also, if the locals want sheriff’s office protection from a repeat of what happened in New Middleton the other night, then we need to be compensated for our efforts.”
“Brilliant move, by the way,” interjected Billy. “Let these people be afraid. They’ll respect your badge even more.”
“That was the idea.”
“As for any barter market, or whatever they call it, it makes sense for us to get a piece of the action,” said Billy. “What are you gonna do with the inmates?”
“Well, the two old drunks who are in and out of my jail on a regular basis are gonna be released. I’m tired of feedin’ them, and they’re basically worthless. I’m gonna have one of the deputies drive them up past Palmyra in North County and throw ’em over the county line. They can walk to Bloomington or Cincinnati or rot. Their choice.”
Billy clasped his hands together and leaned back in the chair. He tried not to let on, but he truly admired his big brother. There was a subtle ruthlessness about Randy that Billy wished he possessed. His immature approach was more akin to an overweight bull in a china shop.
“Are you gonna deputize the rest of ’em?” asked Billy jokingly.
“Well, as a matter of fact, sorta,” replied Randy. “This mornin’ at chow time, I fed ’em real good. I met with ’em in the chow hall to tell them we were running out of food, so this would be their last meal for two days. Naturally, they pissed and moaned about it, but I gave them an option.”
Billy smiled and nodded. “Work release. That’s why you brought it up last night.”
“Exactly. I needed Jo to sign off on the concept, although I couldn’t tell her what the work involved.”
“Deputies?” asked Billy.
“No, not initially. That carrot was dangled in front of them this morning based upon their behavior, performance, and loyalty.”
Billy was intrigued. He adjusted his fanny in the uncomfortable wooden chair and leaned forward. “Tell me more.”
“Well, I think we should be the largest purveyor of fresh produce at this new farmers’ market or trading post.”
Billy stood up from his chair slightly and surveyed the motley crew of inmates wandering around the rec yard. “Randy, they don’t look like farmers. Bikers or meth heads, yes. Not farmers.”
“Doesn’t matter. I don’t need them to grow the food. I need them to steal it.”
Chapter 37
Fort Gratiot County Park
On the western shore of Lake Huron
Levi passed out in the sand. The warm sun took away the chill and dried his clothes. This time, he slept hard without the horrific dreams that had haunted him for days. He also was left alone. The world had changed while he was stranded in the forests of Northern Ontario. America, once a flourishing, dynamic nation, was now set back two hundred years by removing her lifeblood—electricity.
On an ordinary day, this lakefront park would be teeming with kids enjoying the lake waters and playing on the shore. Picnics would be taking place in the various pavilions scattered around the park. The walking trails would be filled with joggers and bicyclers enjoying the warm, late-summer day.
Now the park was empty except for a ragged and battered Levi Boone. He stood and dusted off the front of his clothes, still wet from the lake water. His backside had dried thanks to the warm sun.
Levi staggered in the sand toward the largest of the pavilions marked by signs indicating it contained a men’s and women’s restroom. He went inside and immediately turned the knobs on the ceramic bowl sinks, hoping for a drink of water followed by a bath. The faucet hissed and coughed, but nothing came out. Without a source of power, the water company’s pumps didn’t work.
He pushed open a stall door in search of the toilet. He allowed himself a slight smile when he saw that it wasn’t the typical commercial fixture made up o
f a toilet and stainless-steel pipe system. This toilet actually contained a tank, so he promptly removed the lid to look inside. The water looked clean. He bent over to smell it; then he cupped some into his hand and splashed it on his face. After a deep breath, he found the nerve to taste it.
Not bad, he thought to himself, or at least he hoped it wasn’t. Levi splashed some more on his face and touched it to his lips. He took in just enough to quench his parched mouth. He used the rest to bathe in. He went through all the stalls in the men’s room and the ladies’ room, systematically emptying the one-and-a-half gallon tanks to wash his wounds and cleanse his body.
By the time he’d emptied the tanks, he felt refreshed and ready to go. Levi soaked in the sun for a moment and then began walking through the woods along a paved trail leading toward the front of the park. He wasn’t sure what to expect and had no real plan other than to take things as they came.
However, he was sure of this—trust no one.
He left the trail and fought his way through the thick underbrush of a stand of trees. When he emerged on the other side, he found himself at the back of a small eight-unit motel with a handful of cars in the parking lot.
He hid in the trees and observed his surroundings. Across the street was a nondescript office building and an older home. Only the apartments showed any signs of life, and he could hear music playing from a portable MP3 player or comparable device.
Levi inched forward and scurried across an open lawn to the corner of the U-shaped building. He crouched down and crawled between a row of shrubs and the brick structure. As he reached the front corner of the motel, he heard the sound of a car starting. After dropping to a knee, he peered around the corner. A white Chevy pickup was idling in front of unit 2, the second door to his right.
An older man hopped out of the driver’s seat and, with a slight limp, waddled back inside his motel room, leaving the vehicle unattended. Levi’s heart raced. His eyes darted from the idling pickup to the partially open door of the building. He took a deep breath and held it as he closed his eyes. The words inscribed on the back of the compass filled his head: Every adventure requires a first step.
“I’m sorry, mister,” Levi muttered to himself.
He darted into the parking lot and raced for the truck. He ran so fast that he had to grab the truck bed to slingshot himself toward the open driver’s door.
Levi slid into the seat, pushed down on the clutch, and forced the gear shift into reverse. Only the revving of the engine and squealing of the tires brought the old man out of his room, screaming at Levi to stop.
With the driver’s door still open, Levi drove in reverse into the grass until he’d almost crashed into the blue and yellow Lakeshore Motel & Apartments sign. He jammed on the brakes, causing the driver’s door to slam shut. The old man ran into the grass, shaking his fists and cursing Levi. But Levi ignored him. In less than a minute, he’d fishtailed through the grass onto Lakeshore Road and was speeding south toward Detroit, with a full tank of gas.
He’d driven ten minutes at eighty miles an hour on the two-lane road before he gathered his wits and slowed down. No sense in getting caught speeding in a stolen vehicle. He constantly checked his rearview mirror until common sense told him that telephones weren’t working, and any law enforcement had more important matters to attend to besides stolen pickup trucks.
After Levi calmed his nerves and his adrenaline rush receded, he used logic to plot his next move. He’d never been to Detroit, but living in Indiana, the local news frequently reported on the amount of crime in the city. If he was brazen enough to steal an old man’s pickup or if fisherman were unafraid to rape and murder innocent women, he could only imagine what was going on in the inner city of Detroit.
Levi found a side street that appeared to be desolate. He parked the truck on the shoulder and stopped to catch his breath. He walked around for a moment and then searched the truck to see if there was anything of value. Under the driver’s seat, he found an unopened bottle of Dasani water. He greedily gulped it down.
He rummaged through the glove box and found a couple of screwdrivers, a pocketknife, and a packet of Kleenex. In a pouch behind the passenger’s seat, he found a 2020 Road Atlas. It was old, but he doubted the roads had changed over the years.
The atlas covered the entire country, so it wasn’t much help for the local county roads like the one he was on. However, he was able to chart a zigzagged course in a southwesterly direction toward Indiana that avoided Detroit and Ann Arbor.
He traced his index finger across Southwestern Michigan into Northeastern Indiana. By his rough calculations, he was four hundred fifty miles from Riverfront Farms. A couple of tanks of gas to Carly, Jesse, and Rachel.
Levi was stoked. He had a way to avoid the perils of the city, with the biggest obstacle being a second full tank of gas. One step at a time, he told himself. He fired up the truck and quickly made his way back to the main road. With the map book open, he made his way south.
Every adventure requires a first step. Then another, and another, and another.
Chapter 38
Northwestern Indiana
“I’ve gotta say this is turning out really weird,” observed Tommy as the southbound lane of Highway 41 suddenly opened up with very little traffic. “Ever since we crossed Highway 24 where all that traffic turned east toward Fort Wayne, it’s been relatively smooth but slow sailing.”
Kristi grunted her acknowledgment as she continued to fiddle with the portable ham radio she’d found in one of the maintenance sheds. Brooke’s attempts to help by curiously pushing input buttons didn’t make matters any easier.
Tommy looked over his shoulder at the supplies they’d found during their scavenger hunt at the zoo before they left the city. He’d topped off the gas tank and used bungee cords to strap a full five-gallon gas can onto the chrome bumper of the vintage Mustang. They’d raided Tropic World’s pharmacy and took all the fish antibiotics they could find. Flashlights, batteries, toilet paper, and, of course, the portable ham radio were considered major finds.
“There, I’ve got it,” announced Kristi proudly.
“Got what?”
“I’ve figured out my friend’s frequency. I even remember her call sign—K2PIP.”
“How did you remember that? Did you have a ham radio at your house?”
Kristi shook her head. It’s kinda a long story. My friend Misty Garness went to vet school with me at Ohio State. We were really close. In fact, our friends never could mention one without the other.”
Tommy said their names. “Kristi and Misty.”
“Right, only she and I added Kristi and Misty, two peas in a pod.”
“Okaaay,” said Tommy with a chuckle.
“It was cute,” Kristi defended herself.
“Yeah, if you say so.”
“Well, we thought it was. Anyway, she took a job as a local vet in Corydon, which was originally offered to me. When I went to Africa, there wasn’t cell phone service, so ham radios were used to communicate all over the world. It was kinda fun to talk to her late at night, you know, discussing each other’s day.”
Tommy smiled and shrugged. “That is really cool, actually. So her call sign is K2PIP for two peas in a pod. What’s the K for?”
“Amateur radio call signs usually start with K or W. She wanted the vanity call sign 2-P-I-P and got it.”
Tommy slowed down and pulled the map in front of the steering wheel. “I’m gonna turn east up here just past Lafayette. Then I’ll make my way down to US 231, right?”
“Um, yeah, that’s perfect,” replied Kristi without taking her focus off the radio. She turned up the volume and listened for chatter before trying to reach Misty. For several minutes, she attempted to raise her friend on the radio, using a variety of frequencies that she could remember from years ago. Kristi knew it was a longshot as the functionality of any repeaters was uncertain. Since Tommy seemed to have a handle on their route to the farm, and the threat of people
trying to break into their car like they’d experienced in Chicago was over, she was able to focus her efforts on making contact with her friend.
Twenty minutes later, she got a response.
“This is K2PIP. Over.”
“It’s Misty!”
Kristi grinned from ear to ear. She couldn’t remember the protocol associated with ham radio use, and clearly, she didn’t have a call sign, but she doubted the Federal Communications Commission was too worried about her unauthorized use of the airwaves at this moment.
“Hey there, second pea in a pod.”
For a brief moment, there was silence as Misty didn’t immediately respond. Then the radio exploded with her voice.
“Oh my god!” she exclaimed. “Kristi? Is that really you? Oh my god!”
Tommy burst out laughing, and even Brooke picked up on Misty’s excitement, letting out a hoot to join in the fun.
“Yes, it’s me,” she replied as tears of joy streamed down her face after hearing the familiar voice of her friend.
“Where are you? I saw your dad and brother in New Amsterdam just yesterday. Your dad is worried about you.”
“I’m fine. Um, Chicago is a little nuts, so we took off. We’re on our way now.”
“We?” asked Misty. The two women had lost all sense of radio decorum. Most likely textbook-expert ham radio operators were losing their minds over the conversation.
“Yes, I’ve got a friend I met at the zoo,” she began. She glanced over at Tommy and gave him a sly smile. “Her name is Brooke.”
“What? Really?” Tommy protested. “I see how it is.”
Misty came back, in a slightly confused tone of voice, “Um, you have a girlfriend? You go, girl!”
Now it was Tommy’s turn to bust out laughing. “Serves you right, Dr. Boone.” He grinned and tapped the steering wheel, clearly pleased with himself.
