A. R. Shaw's Apocalyptic Sampler: Stories of hope when humanity is at its worst

by A. R. Shaw

  “Yes, sir!” he said and left the room quickly with the others.

  The remaining man at the table with Roman leaned back in his leather chair after reaching inside of his jacket and pulling out a cigarette and lighter. He lit up while Roman thumbed through his tablet, began typing for a moment, and then regarded the man.

  “How are sales, Frank?”

  “Not bad,” he said. Smoke drifted up and around his head. “You really care about the kids?” He chuckled, surprised that Roman took an interest.

  “The more people stay home, the more who are off my streets and out of my way.”

  Roman leaned back in his chair, matching the relaxed attitude of the other man. “How will the weather affect business?”

  Frank smirked. “Depends on how bad things get. We may have to diversify if conditions deteriorate the way you say they will.”

  Roman nodded. “They will, Frank. So diversify is what you’ll do. If the cell towers go down, I want you here. We have backup radios, but I may need your expertise. Don’t stray far.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  Roman returned to his tablet, and Frank stood and walked by. He clapped Roman on the shoulder as he left the room.

  Frank was one man he could depend on. He wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty, and he handled the underground. That was a side business Geller wasn’t privy to. The underground was Roman’s empire, and he ran that empire like a fine oiled machine with the unwitting assistance of Geller himself.

  30

  “This is the safety switch.” Bishop pointed to the lever on the Ruger Mini 14 rifle. “This is why you couldn’t shoot the rifle. When that switch is in place, it doesn’t shoot. That’s why it’s called safety. Anytime a rifle isn’t in use, it must be in safety. Got it?”

  Ben nodded. Bishop led the young boy through the procedures. The wind picked up again, and snow flurries were coming in sideways—making visibility an issue—but the training had to continue no matter the conditions.

  “You never point a gun at anyone you don’t intend to kill. Plain and simple. Don’t play around with guns. You don’t warn someone with a gun, you shoot them with it and you shoot to kill. Understand?”

  Ben nodded again. His mother remained in the cabin with Louna. When Bishop left with Ben to teach him a few things she was reluctant, but he made her see things his way with one phrase. “He learns or he dies.”

  She’d nodded then, even with tears in her eyes. The world was different, and Bishop knew that if Roger were alive he too would have made sure the young boy knew how to defend himself and his family. It’s what men did in real life. They taught their sons how to survive and to protect those they loved. There were no politics involved; all political correctness was lost when survival was at play. This was the real world. To survive you had to defend yourself and your family or you ceased to exist. It was a cut-and-dried methodology.

  “Now, when you shoot, the stock is going to buck at your shoulder. It might hurt. It might leave a bruise later, but you have to ride it out.” He levered the rifle’s barrel on a cold stone boulder and showed the boy how to hold the rifle against his small frame. “You’re not fully grown yet, so you’ll need to improvise because of your small size. Do what you have to do. Now, never put your finger in the trigger guard unless you’re going to fire. No fingers allowed inside that hole, ever, unless you mean business. Now look through the sights. That’s it. Now, sight the can on the rock. See it? Are you going to take the shot?”

  Ben nodded.

  “Really? What’s on the other side of the can? People?”

  “No, just trees.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No.”

  “What if your mom was taking a walk back there? Would you shoot the bad guy in front of her with your mom behind him?”

  “No.”

  “That’s right. Even if you’re aiming at someone with others around, you don’t take the shot if you might hit someone else. Never take a shot like that. That’s not a clean shot. Understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. OK, the shot is clear. There’s no one back there. Your enemy is that can. He’s the bad guy. What do you need to do to take the shot?”

  “Take it off safety?” Ben asked.

  “That’s right. Go ahead.”

  Ben’s little fingers worked the safety switch right on the outside of the trigger guard. His finger pushed it away with an audible click. Bishop took a deep breath. The boy was so young. He seemed very mature for his age, but his size…he was tiny and not nearly strong enough to handle the gun in an emergency situation.

  “Good. It’ll get easier with practice, but don’t practice with the rifle inside or when there’s anyone on the other side of that barrel, clear?”

  Ben nodded again.

  “All right. Take aim. Safety off. Target in sight. Now take in a breath, let it out, and then hold it as you let your finger in the trigger guard and pull.”

  Ben did exactly as he was told, and when the rifle went off, the stock rammed into his right shoulder, pushing the boy backward and nearly toppling him over from his seated position.

  He jerked and looked up at Bishop in shock.

  “Good job, kid,” Bishop said and saw that the can had flown off from the impact. “You hit it.”

  Ben rubbed his shoulder a bit but pulled up the corner of his mouth into a smile.

  “Really, that was great. I wish we could get more practice in, but we don’t want to draw more attention to our area. What’s the first thing you do when you’re done shooting?”

  “Put the safety back on.”

  “Exactly. Good boy. You learn fast,” he said and tousled the kid’s hair. It was way too cold to stay outside any longer than necessary, and though it was a short lesson, Bishop brought Ben back inside to his mother.

  She stood inside holding Louna. Both of them looked startled from the rifle shot’s blast.

  “It’s OK. He did great.”

  “I shot the gun, Mom!”

  “And more importantly, he hit the can too,” Bishop said as if they were father and son coming home from target practice. What a shame he was teaching the boy to survive during a time of crisis instead of as a life skill that every boy needs to know in ordinary times.

  “That’s…good, Ben,” Maeve said reluctantly. She stared straight at Bishop.

  “We’ve got to pack now. This rifle is yours, Ben. It’s the lightest one I’ve got, and there’s plenty of ammo. You also have your Ruger,” he reminded Maeve.

  She nodded and finished adjusting a spare coat of Bishop’s for Louna to wear for their trip down the mountain. The jacket fell past Louna’s knees, and since the child also wore several layers of Bishop’s thermal shirts she looked like a large roly-poly. Still weak with a cough and a slight fever, Louna wasn’t as ready for the hour-long trip by horseback through a blizzard as Maeve would have liked, but safety first. And Maeve couldn’t imagine staying in the cabin after what had happened last time. Usually independent, she’d never in her life felt as scared and as helpless to defend her child as she had then.

  She put Louna down and picked up the bags that Bishop packed. He brought Jake around and attached a sled on the back for the horse to pull. Maeve handed him the things they were taking, and then he put Ben and Louna near the top of the sled, laying layers of blankets over them. He took Maeve around to the side next, motioning for her to get up into the saddle.

  “I can walk with you,” she said.

  Bishop shook his head no. “If I need you to get out of there in a hurry, Jake has more escape power. It’s a long walk, and you don’t know where to step through the snow. Plus, you’ll be our lookout up there. Keep your eyes open and your gun ready.”

  “I don’t think I could shoot anyone,” she whispered out of the kids’ earshot.

  Bishop watched her. Her eyes were wild with fear. She was scared through, and there wasn’t much he could do about that. “Maeve, what happened before, those men�
�you should have shot them as soon as they entered the clearing. Picked them off one by one.”

  “I can’t…I’m not like you. I don’t know how to do these things.”

  He made his voice calm, knowing if he lowered it she would relax a little. “You want those kids to survive? I know you do. I can’t be everywhere. You can’t let anyone get too close. Shoot before they do.” She continued to shake before him like a leaf. He reached for her and held her in his arms. “Anyone would be afraid, Maeve. I still get afraid. It means you’re human.”

  She calmed down with his touch. Her cold hands warmed against his chest. Her stiff back melted against his strong arms. Her breath brushed hot against his neck.

  “I’ll try.”

  He’d made a plan and was packed and ready to go…but now, though, he only wanted to hold her close to him. The problem was, she was Maeve, Roger’s wife, but no one had made him feel this way before. He stepped away from her gently and looked into her eyes. “Let’s go,” he said and knelt down for her step one foot into his open palms. When she did, she swung her right leg over the saddle. He wrapped another blanket around her and then led Jake down the path, checking over his precious cargo while also constantly scanning the surroundings.

  With her scent still lingering on him, he hoped it would remain as a reminder of what was at stake.

  31

  A few days later, Roman was never surer of the situation than he was now. Most of the hotel residents left, and he was glad. As long as they were out the door, he didn’t care if they ended up stranded alongside the ice-covered streets—so long as they weren’t staying in his hotel or trying to bum on the streets of Coeur d’Alene.

  After three days and nights, the power diminished. The cell phone towers no longer worked, and the police department was utterly useless. That’s when Roman decided it was time. Time for him to take over. Enough was enough.

  “What about the grocery stores?” Frank asked. “There are no deliveries being made. The highways are shut down. No one is getting through anywhere in the country, let alone here.”

  “No food deliveries? That sucks,” Roman said, “Has the sheriff taken over the grocery stores? I mean, what’s in there now is all we have, right? The hotel only stocks a few days at a time.”

  Frank took a puff off of a cigarette, the smoke swirled upward. “The sheriff is over in Rockford Bay on his ranch. Last time anyone heard from him, there wasn’t much he could do. Said the markets were private businesses and he couldn’t dictate that they not sell food. Doesn’t matter anyway; the grocery stores had runs in the beginning days. What they do have left isn’t much. Most of the shelves are bare.”

  Roman swung his arm toward the urban sprawl to the east of the building out of his conference room window. “So all the grocery stores are out of food?”

  Frank nodded. “Looks that way.”

  Roman paced the floor back and forth. “Highways shut down, no food deliveries, no communication, and no end in sight. They’ll all die. Your family…my men. No, this isn’t going to happen. Frank, you have boys, right? You’ve got that team? We’ve used them before.”

  “Yeah, sure. There’s a network of preppers who are on the radios too. They keep a lot of stuff. They had encouraged everyone else to horde stuff before it was too late.”

  “Before it was too late?” Roman repeated the statement. “It was too late a few days ago. But that’s not how things are going down.” Roman continued pacing. “Starting tonight. Hit these hoarders and take everything they have. Any resistance, and they die. Bring everything here. We’ll put it in storage. They want to eat, we will feed them. I’m not going to have hoarders in my town.”

  Frank was already up and headed for the door, nearly giddy with anticipation. “Yes, sir.”

  32

  Shots rang out that night as three trucks left the scene filled with the bounty of several nearby homes. If the residents didn’t comply with Frank’s order to hand over their stocked food, he took what meager rations they did have by force. With a bullhorn in one hand, he held onto the back of the truck with the other as he continued to announce, “Turn over your supplies so that we can all survive together. If your neighbor has hidden rations, let us know and we’ll be happy to send over a few folks to help them get the items into the community store. No hoarders are allowed. We all must survive.”

  Having neighbors rat on neighbors was the easiest way to find all the hidden supplies. They carted supplies by the truckload into the hotel basement, where everything was sorted and inventoried. Those who resisted were summarily dragged out of their houses and shot in the streets for everyone to witness. There was no better motivator than fear.

  Frank’s boys were used to violence. They were those who thrived on the seedier side of life by providing ladies to the more unscrupulous of the resort vacationers. Or for those who wanted more than a little alcohol to soothe their needs. Roman needed Frank because his boss, Geller, refused to see the other side. He was too good for that way of life, and someone had to provide for the wants and needs of rich men beyond Geller’s comprehension.

  Roman was to Frank as Geller was to Roman; only one was in the observed world, and the other was invisible. Or, more likely, Frank’s world was what Geller turned a blind eye to. Whether or not the man was aware of his talents, he didn’t know. That was up to Roman. For now, Frank did exactly what Roman wanted, and that was to control the town.

  “Frank, the police are right around the corner. They want to know what’s going on,” one of his workers stated.

  “Oh really?” Frank nearly laughed. “I’ll tell them what’s going on. I’m doing their job—that’s what’s going on.”

  Frank walked around the snowmobiles where some of his men were relieving an owner of his supplies while he kept watch and made sure nothing went to hell. Then he went around the corner where a police snowmobile had pulled to the side of the street, hanging back in the shadows. Two officers were waiting for him.

  “We have some questions, Frank.”

  He recognized both of these men. You could say they’d worked together a time or two.

  “Hey, fellas. A little brisk, wouldn’t you say?”

  They both laughed as the snow continued to pile up around them.

  “We’re getting calls, Frank,” said the older officer.

  “They keep asking if this is legal,” a young officer said with a roll of the eyes. “You shot Mr. Henderson—”

  “That was self-defense. He pulled the gun on one of my boys. We shot back.” Frank said, both of his hands up in a helpless gesture.

  The first officer snorted. “Nice one. Look, martial law was issued two days ago, so as far as we’re concerned there isn’t a problem. But Sheriff Weston from the south side said his people are running out of food already in Rockford Bay, and he wants us to bring some of ours over the lake via snowmobile.”

  “He wants some of the food?”

  “Yeah. He said the residents there are getting really antsy.”

  “That’s too damn bad. I know what Roman will say…hell no.”

  The second officer agreed. “See, I told you,” he said to the first officer.

  “We also have a few guys that are saying this is wrong.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  The first officer twirled his gloved finger in the air. “This, what we’re doing.”

  “What, keeping people alive? Have him come talk to me then. If he has the balls…”

  The first officer snorted again. “He might. I don’t know.”

  Frank slapped the younger officer on the shoulder. “Don’t sweat it, Luke. Hey, tell my sister I’ll be by later with a few things.”

  “I will, Uncle Frank,” he said, and as Frank turned around, the officers mounted their snowmobiles and drove away.

  33

  Bishop left camp this time with a heavy heart, not knowing when he might return. He made sure everything was locked in tight, but that was no guarantee that his supplies w
ould be there when he came back. He couldn’t bring all the MREs he wanted and had to make do with the space available.

  The other thing was that the little girl was improving every day, which meant she was asking more questions. Questions they couldn’t answer for her. He hoped they could find relatives to take her in—as long as she would be safe with them—once they made it safely into town. And now that Ben could shoot, he felt a little relieved while being worried at the same time. Had Bishop come a second later when the three men were attacking Maeve, they would have killed her and the children. He had no doubt about that.

  He also had doubts about keeping them in the storage unit. No place was safe enough. They wouldn’t survive in these conditions. He had to get into town and take out the man that was killing so many. If he didn’t turn things around in Coeur d’Alene, they’d all die, and soon. The temperatures were plummeting even faster than his predictions, and if that were possible, conditions would deteriorate even faster. They needed more resources to survive the cold. Thick insulated walls and running water would be a nice start.

  Once they’d left the mountain, he could feel Maeve’s increased tension. She sat even more erect, watching everything he could not see. “Just tell me if you see any movement whatsoever,” he’d told her. Once they met the frozen ice of the lake, Bishop noted the footprint traffic had increased since the time he’d come before.

  Most of the tracks were leaving town, probably in the dead of night and for good reason, but these people were walking into their own deaths and that Bishop was sure of. Anyone exposed out in the open in another week would surely freeze to death, their bodies never to be discovered. No one would ever know what had happened to them—as if they’d vanished. Clouds of steam rose off Jake and Bishop in great puffs the closer they came to town. Bishop, too, was on alert. It was one thing when he was alone—it was another having Maeve and the children with him, which was a vulnerability he had not anticipated. As soon as he neared the maze of storage units, he stopped at the end of one of the long rows and had Maeve step down from the horse. Her legs buckled when she first landed on the ground, so much so that he had to steady her for a long moment until he was sure she wouldn’t topple over.