“I’m just a simple country boy who grew up on a Ranch in Waxahachie Texas, that gal over there if I’m not mistaken was Miss Maryland about a decade or so back, John here is just a dirt farmer from this godforsaken state and the rest of these guys come from all walks of life. Who do you think we are?” Tex asked.
“The Devil,” The trussed man on the end said.
“Close, but not quite The Devil. We’re a lot worse.”
The man spilled his guts completely. John was shocked at how few resources and men that they said were there. At first he thought it was a ruse to gain their confidence, but as they recounted the horrors of no supply lines, the illness of their own men, and not having the means or medicine to treat them, he began to believe differently. Eventually the rest of the men opened up as well. They relaxed a little bit when they weren’t killed outright.
They helped the disabled men to their feet to approach the APC as one of the special ops team popped his head out of the hatch on top and gave them a thumbs up.
“Radio man never saw it coming. He’s gagged,” he called to them.
“Good, somebody go collect your Lieutenant, we’re going to set up camp somewhere.”
“But… but he’s dead?”
They waited in silence as Tex dragged Jenkins back into the open. His eyes were glazed in pain and a bloody streak ran down his shoulder above his bicep where a pressure bandage had been placed.
“Naw, I just gave his balls a little squeeze,” Tex said showing the men one of his large callused hands, “And poked his shoulder a bit so you could see me wiping the blood off. Thing is, I think we are as sick of the killin’ as the rest of folks are. So let’s save some lives and I might let ya’ll live to see another day.”
“You made him cry like that with a little squeeze of those hands?” Caitlin asked Tex, batting her eyelashes.
“Darlin’, you ought to see what else I can do with these here hands. I’ll have you know I’m the best masseuse in all of Alabama.”
“That’s because you’re the only masseuse in Alabama,” John grumbled, and a few of the rebels busted up laughing.
“Load ‘em up boys,” Caitlin urged and marched the captured solders in front of her and two others at gunpoint as the rest got into the APC.
Chapter 12 -
Talladega FCI
Michael came to slowly. His head hurt, and every muscle in his body burned, like he’d just finished a strenuous workout. He opened his eyes to see he was lying on a rubber pad on a concrete floor. A stainless steel toilet was straight ahead and Michael rolled onto his back, the only direction that didn’t require him to use his large muscle groups causing more pain.
A single light bulb burned dimly behind a wire cage. The ceiling was speckled with water damage and the room had a musty smell overall. The walls were close together, perhaps an eight by eight squared off room with a steel door. A tray with a bottle of water sat on the shelf of the door, moisture still beading on the bottle. Michael sat up, suddenly more thirsty than in pain and scooted closer to the tray.
A plate was covered with a napkin and two Aspirin were sitting in a plastic cup. Michael broke the seal on the water and considered the Aspirin, and upended the cup into his mouth and washed the pills down. With any luck, they would take the edge off the pain. He was pretty sure he was tasered again, but at a much higher level, and then clubbed into unconsciousness. He saw a small handwritten note under where the medicine cup had been, and was going to pick it up when his stomach protested loudly, and he instead lifted the napkin to see what he had for food.
Taking a swig from the bottle of water, he considered the sandwich. It was a plain bologna sandwich, a marvel of marvels. With the refrigeration gone, he realized that this had to have come from the Commander’s food stores, as anything like that would have been long gone. Still, the Commander could have included some mayo or mustard…
Michael heard footsteps as he was finishing off the sandwich, the footfalls echoing. He gulped the last of the water with his back to the wall the door was on, when he heard a rattle of keys and a small slot opened.
“Put your dishes back on the tray and back away from the door,” said someone, their legs the only thing that Michael could see in front of him.
Michael did so, but instead of backing up, he got closer to the slot and spoke, “Hey, where am I?” he asked, reaching out to soldier on the other side.
A crackle of electricity was all he heard half a heartbeat before what looked like the tip of a cattle prod sent jolts of electricity through his hand. Michael howled in pain, falling back into the cell. He curled there and screamed until he could get his body under control again. Red welts covered his wrist and top of his right hand and he held them in close to his body as he listened to footsteps walk away.
“Hey, you ok over there?” A familiar voice asked.
“Hurts, they tasered me again,” Michael replied near the floor of the doorway where he figured he could get his voice out the best.
“Wait, Michael?” The voice asked.
“Dad?”
+++++
“Tonight’s episode of rebel radio is going to focus on two topics that are probably problems for a lot of you now a days. The kids will think it’s funny and many of you grown-ups are going to wrinkle your nose but hang in there, and Back Country J, our own Blake Jackson will be on in a moment to explain things to you. As it is, this is David,” and he handed the mic over to his right, “And this is Patty,” she said grinning before handing it back to David, “and hello world! Over.”
The radio crackled as dozens of voices greeted David, Patty, Blake, and then each other. Since the mock up radio station broadcast regularly, new voices and people started to reach out, helping each other. Sometimes they would run across small groups of people who needed help, sometimes military veterans or soldiers who were on holiday when the EMP happened. They shared information openly and freely on that channel, or at least the things they didn’t want the NATO forces to know. It became like the president’s fireside radio chat: a way for others around the country and world to follow along, and participate in helping a crippled nation and people.
“Good evening everyone. Couple of topics I want to talk to you all about. What to do when you have to go. Since the day we were born, we never had a problem going to the bathroom, but I wanted to talk to you about disposal. I’ve listened on this frequency and we’ve had our Doc mention more than once that water pollution by waste is contributing to a lot of problems.
“When the power went off, it wasn’t long until the toilets quit flushing. A ton of you probably found a spot and dug an outhouse. That works in the short term, and if you have enough land it may not be a problem unless it contaminates your water supply. Some folks are using the restroom in lakes and rivers. If it worked in the pool and the water doesn’t turn purple around you, you’re safe right? Right?
“The problem is, we are all living in a closed loop now, and the few of us left are precious. I have a couple of ideas on what to do when you have to poo. Firstly, I’m no expert, I’m no doctor. I’m just a hillbilly who lives in the sticks with a great group of people. I can’t even take credit for everything I’m about to share, because like the purpose of this radio station, I learned something new and improved upon it. You should all do the same with the info you get here…,” Blake paused to sip some water, “then share it with the rest of us.”
“Now, I have an idea on how to take care of the waste, and it’s been working on my homestead for a while now. We built a box. Nothing fancy, lined it with a big sheet of visqueen and stapled the edges on the outside of the box. It makes a great liner and it keeps the waste from contaminating things. Then you build a way to cover the front with glass. You can use old windows, storm doors, something you can open and close but keep a somewhat tight lid on. Poke or drill a small hole near the top of the box somewhere and staple some screen door screen over the hole and paint everything but the glass black.
“I
t works pretty simple. You do what you gotta do into a bucket, cover with sawdust, leaves or whatnot. When it’s too full or fragrant, empty it into the bin. The heat will literally kill off any bacteria and essentially dry out the waste and the smell. It’s a bigger version of a solar oven. When it gets too full, compost the dry stuff and use it for fertilizing your fruit trees, rose gardens and tulips. Any questions so far, over?”
“Mr. Jackson, this is Z, you are saying build a big solar oven for poop, do I have that right, over?”
“Yes ma’am. But one that is pretty airtight, water tight and fly proof. I think more than forty percent of the illness we’ve heard about has been from drinking contaminated water. It’s just one idea, and if folks have a better way, please share… Oh, and don’t put the poo cooker by your house, for the same reasons you don’t put the outhouse right against your bedroom window, over.” Blake chuckled.
“Sounds good Mr. Jackson, what’s the second thing you were going to share?”
“Drinking water. I almost forgot, thanks Z! There are a million ways to purify water. The easiest way is bleach; two drops per quart, eight drops per gallon of water. Cap it and let it sit for half an hour or so. Then open it up, pour it from one container to another until the smell of bleach dies down. If the water is terrible, use a little more, but don’t overdo it. With iodine, it’s five drops per quart, or twenty drops per gallon. If the water is too cloudy, with either method, you double it. Do not overdo it. Lastly, the method that has been used for thousands and thousands of years, boil the water. Let it cool, enjoy. Since you don’t know who’s fouling the water upstream.
“Now, I’ll be around for some questions and if you know of a different or better way of doing things, don’t hesitate to speak up. We’re here to help each other and to get through the difficult times we’re having. Over.”
For thirty minutes, Blake and other survivors across the country shared information and news. The format of Rebel radio hadn’t changed much, share something big and then try to help individuals with their own particular situation. The topics were sometimes funny, sometimes serious. Tonight was a topic they ended up with a lot of bathroom euphemisms and jokes with everyone who had a microphone in their hands. Sandra sat in on tonight’s radio show like she often did and when her radio squawked on a different channel, she left the room for a moment and gave Blake a smile and a nod. She had info, but it could wait.
“If that’s all we got for now, I’m going to leave you folks with David and Patty. I’ll be back on tomorrow, same frequency, same time. Over and out,” he said and then handed the mic over to David.
“Blake,” Sandra said, leading him into the kitchen so they wouldn’t interrupt David, “there are now four groups fixing to take on the FEMA camps. They’re all small units like John’s. They are going to attack the same time John does. There might be even more groups that we don’t know about.” Sandra told him.
“Coordinating the times… Hm… You think they are doing it so the other camps can’t help each other out?” Blake asked his wife.
“Daddy, you’re done!” Chris came out of nowhere and launched himself into the air.
Blake caught and spun him, feeling his shoulder twinge in pain a little bit, but it was much better than it had been.
“What have you been doing buddy?” Blake said, putting him on the ground in front of a smiling Sandra.
“Playing with the rabbits. I got to help feed the chickens today too, and after school lessons I’ll have some time to go picking some berries. Grandma Lisa says she’s going to make us a PIE!” Chris’s volume rose towards the end and he punctuated the last word with a fist pump.
Sandra snickered and Blake laughed.
“Where did you learn that,” Sandra said, trying to get her composure back.
“I don’t know. Something the kids in class do.”
“Well,” Blake said moving towards the doorway, “I guess that makes it ok for now. Come on, let’s go see how the traps are doing on the back forty.”
“Yes!”
“Got room on the quad for one more?” Sandra asked him, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“I’ve always got room for you, let’s go… and Hon, do you think the coordination we were talking about earlier…?”
“Oh yeah, it’s planned,” he could see her grin as she came around in front of him and took his hand.
“Why do I have a feeling that you were in the middle of that somewhere?” Blake asked her, smiling back.
“That’s cuz mom gets into everything! Even lists!” Chris said and Blake busted up laughing as Sandra’s face turned red and she sputtered for words.
“Let’s go, I’ll explain how to not stick your foot in your mouth someday.”
+++++
“The prisoners?” Caitlin asked, now fully dressed in black ACU’s like the rest of the team.
“We’re keeping the radioman, and the rest we’re locking in an old barn,” John told her.
“That means we have to come back and get them out,” Tex said and a couple others nodded.
“Naw, I rigged up something. I tied the cuff keys to a piece of string. Other end I put inside a slice of a candle. When the candle burns down, the key drops into the guys lap. Figure it’ll give us about three or four hours,” John told them.
There were blacked out faces, wearing watch caps that all nodded, they had used improvised timers like that before, whether a lit cigarette or a weighted two liter of pop as a counterweight with a small pinhole poked in the bottom.
“That’ll give us enough time to do what we need to do.” Caitlin said, and John nodded.
Henrikas had confirmed much of what the captured soldiers had said, and knowing morale was low and many of the NATO soldiers were here against their will made John think it would be easy to try to keep his promise. If the small amount of soldiers were hit in the middle of the night, and the commander taken, they could negotiate for the release of the prisoners without a terrific loss of life.
The biggest wildcard was the second APC. Without letting the radioman ask, which would have been suspicious, they had no idea if it was back at the camp, or out on patrol. They had a couple different ways to disable it, but it would help if it wasn’t there for the main fight… the main gun was a horror if turned on people. Their plan was to disable or capture it outright. It was the biggest force multiplier they could get to take on the nearly 60 people working and guarding this particular camp of thousands.
Chapter 13 -
Talladega FCI
“Dad? Is that you?” Michael asked in shock.
“Yeah, it’s me. What are you doing here?”
“We got back to the stateside about a month after the EMP. They took us here immediately. Have you seen your mother?” His tone was hopeful.
“No, no I haven’t.” Michael answered, worried.
“Did you find Grandpa’s cave? Is that how you stayed out of Lukashenko’s hands?”
“I’ve been in the camp for a little while now. I don’t quite know where this is.”
“We’re in the second story of the hospital wing, psych unit. It’s for trouble makers like me. I think the women and children are in a separate location.” Michael’s father said.
They spent the next two hours catching each other up. Michael’s father had occupied the cell to the right of his, ever since he had a public disagreement with Lukashenko. Michael also shared the bloodshed that had happened, his doubts of being a good man, and not having faith in his decisions. He then admitted to his father killing Linny and Bret’s father, as well as how he was too cowardly to admit it to the kids, even though he had taken them in as his own family.
“Son, I’ve never had to take a life before, and I can’t say that I know how it feels, but son… I’m proud of you.”
“What?” Michael asked, lying on his stomach so he could get his head closer to the crack on the floor.
“I don’t know if I could of done what you did, and I think what happened
, well… You were put into an impossible situation and you came out ok. You handled it like a man. You shouldered the responsibility and son… you make me proud.”
Michael tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but failed. His mouth opened and closed to protest the words, and his body was fighting to sob or cry in relief. He absently rubbed his eyes to dislodge the dirt that had been making them leak a little bit, when shouts sounded at either end of the hallway and the sound of a heavy machine gun opened fire. Unlike the rifles the soldiers carried, this wasn’t the loud whip crack. The sound was like some monstrous chainsaw wielded by a madman wearing a hockey mask, but even louder than that.
+++++
“You promised not to kill them,” The prisoner said.
“We’re only disabling the turret and chain gun. If they don’t disengage we will kill them.” John told him grunting.
The interior of the APC was crowded, but already, four of the team had left an hour ago, once the APC had been let in through the first gate. Things hadn’t gone well when the gate guards had requested to see Lieutenant Jenkins, so they just drove over the guard post, making the first casualty of the war before he could get the alarm sounded. The revving of the twin motors drowned out the surprised yells.
“APC two on radio,” Mouse, one of John’s team said over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off the target.
“APC, we’ve disabled your primary guns. If you move your unit I will unload my rounds point blank into your unit. The armor you have cannot take a barrage like this for very long. I will have a team there in moments to remove you from the APC.”
There was a long pause, and everyone inside John’s APC was looking at the commotion stirring up as the sound of gunfire had awakened most at camp. The raid had been timed for 3 a.m., a time when most people would be asleep, or at their worst point of alertness.
“You will never make it out of here alive, I suggest you back up and leave before you and your team are killed.” Came out of the radio.
The World Bleeds: A Post-Apocalyptic Story (The World Burns Book 5) Page 8
