Pedestals of Ash

by Joe Nobody

The scout units in front of the main column had encountered everything from masses of beggars to outright hostility. Major Owens was shocked the first time one of his scout Humvees was fired upon by four men with hunting rifles. The fact that one of his men had been injured during the encounter focused everyone’s attention on security. The charity of throwing chocolate bars to the children evaporated when they suffered their first casualty. The major had not been issued any orders covering the rules of engagement and was hesitant to order his men to fire upon civilians.

  After careful consideration, he instructed his men they could return fire if fired upon. It was the best he could do, and he hoped the desperate people would be frightened of the tanks and leave the unit alone.

  His biggest problem right now involved their supply train. Trailing behind the main force was another column of trucks and tankers used to refill his tanks and resupply his troops. One of those trucks had been trying to navigate the downhill slope of an overpass that was hopelessly blocked by a jackknifed 18-wheeler. The supply truck had overturned and rolled down the hill, spilling its contents of MREs and ammunition along the way. According to the lieutenant in charge of the section, hundreds of people literally appeared out of nowhere and began looting the spilled goodies. When the security component and he had dismounted and attempted to corral the vandals, they were fired upon by an unknown number of attackers. This had resulted in his men taking cover without causalities – but all of the supplies were gone. The major’s main force not only had to slow down, but also send back reinforcements to keep any more supplies from being pilfered from the now motionless convoy. The loss of those supplies wasn’t going to be an easy thing to explain to his commander.

  Major Owens scratched the back of his head and continued to listen to the command-net radio. His truck drivers were now trying to right the overturned vehicle and were requesting the only tow vehicle in the entire brigade to come back and help. The first sergeant looked up at his commander, and Owens nodded his approval – Go ahead and send it back. Losing a few days’ worth of MREs was one thing – losing a truck was another. He ordered the first sergeant to call yet another halt and reached for a protein bar.

  It was over an hour before the overturned truck was salvaged, and the column sections reported in that everyone was ready to roll again. Up and down a 14-mile long stretch of I-20, radios cracked with the orders to move out.

  Major Owens was actually pleased with the progress over the next 90 minutes and was beginning to relax just a little. The further the brigade moved away from Dallas, the fewer vehicles were on the roadway, impeding their progress. He was just about to say something positive to his driver when the radio sounded in his ear. It was his lead scout, and his heart sank when he heard the words, “Sir, you had better get up here – this is above my pay grade,” sounded through his earpiece.

  The major ordered his driver and one of the Bradleys from the command company to move out, and they hurried to the front of the convoy. As they approached, Owens noticed an information sign on the highway indicating “Tylerville – Next 5 Exits.” As the commander’s tank navigated a small rise in the road, he immediately understood why his scout had called him forward.

  All four lanes of the interstate were purposely blocked by a well-spaced series of semi-trailers, parked on a bridge. Underneath the span was a wide pool of muddy brown water. It was as if someone had intentionally built a moat and then fortified the bridge with the haulers. The major could see the large man-made pond continued for a considerable distance both north and south of the roadway itself. In addition, an area of several hundred meters had been cleared outward from the moat, enabling the defenders a clear field of fire. Major Owens found his binoculars and studied the bridge. Sure enough, he could make out sentries positioned along the roadblock. He could also see several human skeletons at the base of the structure. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his lead scout approaching his tank on foot. The commander waved the man onto his tank and waited while the sergeant climbed aboard. Since they were in the field, and potentially visible to a hostile force, the man stifled the impulse to salute.

  “Sergeant, what do you make of this?”

  The experienced soldier didn’t hesitate, “Sir, I don’t know if you picked up on the highway signs, but it appears as though we have arrived in Tylerville, Texas. It is also my opinion that the locals are a little more organized than anyone else we’ve come across and have constructed a moat and barricade to protect their town…sir.”

  Major Owens appreciated a good dose of sarcasm now and then and decided to add a little himself, “Excellent report, Sergeant – I admire your tremendous grasp of the obvious.” After the two professional soldiers exchanged grins, the officer added, “Let’s go see what this is all about – we’re behind schedule, and I’m going to get an ass chewing from division as is.”

  After the scout jumped down from the tank, Owens waited until the man made it back to his Bradley, and then the two war machines proceeded toward the fortifications. As they approached the roadblock, Major Owens saw movement, and suddenly a golf cart popped out and headed directly for them. He ordered his driver to stop the tank and the gunner to cover the approaching electric cart. Owens could see two men inside of the cart, one of them appeared to be in uniform. His radio sounded with the observation that dozens of people were now standing on top of the trailers.

  Major Owens didn’t know what to expect, so he stayed in the turret and waited. The small white transport stopped about 20 meters in front of his tank and two men immediately hopped out. One of them appeared to be a police officer with grey hair and reasonably crisp uniform. Owens surmised him to most likely be the local police chief or county sheriff. The other man was even older, but wore a suit jacket and tie. He donned a fedora hat and smiled broadly, as the two of them walked a few steps closer. Owens again speculated this man was the city manager or mayor. Owens radioed he was dismounting the tank and required the master sergeant to join him – armed.

  The rear door of the Bradley lowered, and six fully armed infantrymen exited the back. Owens decided the men did a good job of making it clear there was going to be zero bullshit while at the same time not threatening the two gentlemen who were waiting on him.

  Owens and the master sergeant approached the two men, and the older gentleman immediately extended his hand. “General, I am Craig Farley, mayor of Tylerville, Texas.” The mayor pointed to his comrade and continued, “This is our Chief of Police, Mike Thompson.”

  Owens was polite and tried to sound as official as possible. When he introduced himself, he emphasized his rank, but wasn’t sure the politician heard him. Handshakes were exchanged, and the honorable Mr. Farley continued, “Major, we are so happy that help is finally here. We had just about given up hope. Our people are hungry, and medical supplies are non-existent. Were it not for the quick action of Chief Thompson, we would have really been in trouble. Thank God the feds have finally stepped in.”

  The major shifted his weight and looked the man in the eye, “Mayor, I regret to inform you that we are not a relief convoy. We are on our way to Louisiana and need to pass through your town as quickly as possible. I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t lend you any assistance at this time.”

  Both of the men from Tylerville were shocked. The mayor started to stutter something, but the chief found his voice first, “What do you mean, Major? I can assure you and your commander that no one in Louisiana needs help more than we do. Whatever aid you planned on delivering there is just as badly needed here.”

  The major’s response was as firm as he could make it without sounding disrespectful, “Sir, we are not on a relief mission. We have specific orders that I cannot share with you at this time, but I assure you, sir, we do not have the supplies or personnel to render any assistance.”

  The mayor and chief looked at each other with puzzled, questioning expressions. Owens pressed on, “Gentlemen, I must ask you to allow us passage and as soon as possible. We are already beh
ind schedule, and I am trying to make up time. Please provide an opening for us to pass through.”

  The mayor’s mood quickly turned ugly, “Well this is just a fine how-do-you-do. We’ve been waiting for weeks on the government to lend us a hand, and now what do we get? We get more work thrown at us with zero payback.”

  The chief quickly joined in, “Major, we can’t just open a door in that roadblock and let you pass through. It’s not that simple. After we moved those trailers into place, the fuel was drained from the tractors and used for the hospital’s generators. We don’t have anything that can open a passage for you unless you have some spare diesel and a way to pump it.”

  The army officer was short on time, fuel, and patience. He was barely going to make it to the border with the fuel they had onboard. If the resupply convoy didn’t catch up to them soon, the Ironhorse was going to be stranded here on I-20 just like all of these other refugees. “Sir, I don’t have enough fuel to complete my mission, let alone fill up some of your trucks. We will move a couple of the trailers out of the way and proceed.”

  The chief had seen that coming and protested, “You can’t punch a hole in our wall and just leave us, son. We barely keep out all of those people as it is. If we hadn’t blown that dam and created this lake, we would be in serious trouble. Without that blockade, we would be overrun in a day.”

  Major Owens took a deep breath and exhaled. He wanted to remind these two civil servants that “those people” were fellow Americans, but clearly, the situation had deteriorated to the point where no words from a stranger would have any affect. Besides, it would open a debate he didn’t have time for. In the calmest voice, he could muster, he replied. “Chief, I’m sorry, but I don’t see any alternative. We don’t have the time to go around. How about if we close the hole after we pass through? Would that work?”

  The two older men looked at each other, and the mayor finally shrugged his shoulders, “I guess so, Major. At least we won’t be any worse off. Besides, what we are going to do – fight the U.S. Army?”

  It was almost dark by the time the Ironhorse had crossed town and was proceeding toward the state line again. Owens radioed his status to his commanding general back in Dallas and then requested the information on the status of his refueling convoy. The response wasn’t what he wanted to hear. Only half of the promised trucks were leaving Dallas – in the morning. Despite that bad news, Owens enjoyed at least some comic relief. Upon informing his commander that the resupply convoy would require a significant security detachment, the three-minute vulgarity-laden rant crackling through his earpiece was a classic example of a professional officer expressing his displeasure.

  The major decided he didn’t want to completely run out of fuel and turn his fast-moving armor into fixed position pillboxes, so he ordered a halt for the night. He and his men could use a little rest, so when they reached a relatively open area, they circled the wagons and set up camp.

  Chapter 5 - Strangers in Meraton

  Terri folded the sheets into a nice tight crease and began fluffing the pillows. Her thoughts migrated from worrying about Bishop to being thankful for the soft, comfortable bed. She and Bishop had been sleeping on the camper’s thin, foam covered bunks for weeks. The old trailer at the ranch provided basic shelter and a good spot to hide, but offered few amenities. I’d gladly trade this comfy bed for having Bishop back, she thought. Every time he was away, she felt an undeniable empty spot inside that was almost like being hungry – but not quite the same. When he was doing something dangerous, the hunger became intense. She subconsciously shook her head to clear the negative direction her mind was heading. He’ll come back to me – he always does. The effort to push down the worry about her soul mate seemed to open another door in her mind. She sat on the end of the bed and realized she was homesick for their home in Houston. They had both worked so hard to get that house. It wasn’t anything grandiose or special, just another small home among thousands of similar abodes scattered throughout the suburbs of American cities. Still, they had worked together and managed a home when most other people couldn’t. Terri had been a bank teller while Bishop worked as a security specialist at HBR. America had been in the throes of a second Great Depression when the terrorists attacked. The government’s reaction had caused further damage to the economy, and it had all been too much. Over a period of a few weeks, everything collapsed.

  They had tried to stay put, but supplies were running low, and neighbors were beginning to turn on each other. Looters became bold, and there was no way the surrounding land could support the population. Martial law being declared was the last straw. Bishop had inherited property in west Texas years before and had created a hunting retreat that allowed them both to escape the pressures of city life now and then. When it became clear that they couldn’t manage in suburbia any longer, the young couple had bugged out and headed west.

  The escape from Houston and ensuing trip through an uncivilized Texas had been another extreme test of their working together. Saving money, managing the budget and the seemingly endless process of acquiring a mortgage paled in comparison to surviving that trip across Texas. They had endured because they were a team, and Terri missed her partner badly.

  Her attention turned to her surroundings as she gazed around the beautiful room and wondered how many guests it had pleased over the years. She had always loved travel, and the few meager vacations she and Bishop had been able to afford left special memories that would be cherished forever. She smirked at the irony of staying at the Manor under these circumstances. Before the collapse, such an expensive luxury was beyond their modest budget. She could remember driving through Meraton on the way to their ranch and wondering what it would be like to stay at such a nice place. Now, she wanted very badly to be back at their homestead – with Bishop by her side.

  The ranch had supported them for over two months. While desert living had been a struggle, they weren’t starving…and had always appreciated the tranquility their hideaway afforded. Both of them needed the time to recover from the bug out trip. Everything had been going reasonably well until Bishop’s old boss, the Colonel, had buzzed the ranch in a private plane. The Colonel was on a mission directly ordered by the President of the United States. The plane, low on fuel, had crashed, in the search to find Bishop’s ranch. The Colonel had been badly injured, and Meraton was the closest location where Bishop and Terri could get medical help. The arrival of the Colonel had changed their lives. Too injured to complete his mission, the Colonel recruited Bishop to deliver a report to the president. The information in that report might help to avoid a civil war, and Terri had supported Bishop’s taking on the responsibility.

  Terri ambled toward the end of the bed that dominated the hotel room, lost in thought. She folded her nightclothes and brushed the wrinkles out of the bedspread. A loud knock at the door startled her.

  Her first thought was it was David or Samantha, but they had left to spend a few days at the Beltran ranch. As Terri padded toward the handmade, thick plank door, she couldn’t help but wonder if the Manor would ever become a desirable destination for traveling families again. Since the fall of society, the small, isolated town of Meraton had used its largest structure as a combination guesthouse, hospital, and defensive fort. Would people ever come here again for pure pleasure and rest?

  Terri called out, “Who is it?”

  Betty, the proprietor of the Manor, responded in a nervous voice. “Umm…ahhhh…Terri, there are some people here to speak with you.”

  Something in Betty’s tone warned Terri, and she reached for her pistol lying on the bedside table. She held the weapon at her side and slowly opened the door, staying to the side of the opening.

  “Good morning, Betty. I have guests? I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

  Betty’s voice was strained. “There are two men here who say they know you. They were down at Pete’s, asking where you and Bishop are. They are rather insistent.”

  Terri fought the urge to rush o
ut of the room, the potential of there being news regarding Bishop causing her to abandon caution. She paused and calmed herself, remembering Betty didn’t get scare easily. Terri cleared her throat, “Betty, I’m not dressed just yet. Could you ask them to meet me at Pete’s in 10 minutes?”

  A male voice responded, “Terri, it’s Nick.”

  Terri, still holding her pistol, exploded out of the room and ran immediately to Nick, almost knocking him over with her embrace. The big man caught his balance and spun her around in a spiral of hugging while Terri peppered his cheeks with friendly kisses. Nick finally set her down, and she immediately looked around, spotting Kevin standing shyly against a porch column. Terri, so happy to see the young man, repeated the same scene minus the jumping into Kevin’s arms.

  Betty cleared her throat, indicating a curiosity as to what was going on. Terri blushed and nodded an apology to her friend. “Betty, this is Nick and Kevin. Bishop and I met them on the trip out here from Houston. They saved our bacon more than once, and we all survived a crazy situation together.”

  Betty politely squeezed both of the visitors’ hands and kindly asked if they planned on staying in town for a while. A confused look on his face, Nick wasn’t quite sure how to respond. He had been surprised to learn that Terri was not at the ranch and still had no idea where Bishop was. He finally decided it was best to simply look at Terri with a puzzled expression on his face. Terri smiled and bailed him out, saying, “I’m sure these fellas would appreciate a comfy room after such a long trip.”

  Betty nodded and pointed to the room two doors down from Terri’s. “I’ll bring the key in just a bit. Nice to meet the both of you,” and turned, strolling back to the front lobby.

  Terri waved for Nick and Kevin to follow her and lead them into the pool area. Both men still carried their rifles on their shoulders, until Terri reassured them they could relax and take it easy here at the Manor. Neither wasted much time unslinging their weapons.