by Mic Roland
“I don’t expect big trouble,” said Arthur. “After all, I brought Edith along with me, didn’t I?” Edith, standing on the other side of the truck, heard her name. She gave Arthur a little wave. “Of course, it doesn’t hurt that she’s got a keen eye with iron sights, too.” He winked.
“You should bring along something beside your sidearm,” Arthur said to Martin. “Just in case.”
“Like a carbine?”
“Yeah. That would be good. Don’t expect much for trouble in the first place, but if it does come, it’ll probably be close quarters anyhow. Not much need for long scopes and sniper rifles.”
Two more trucks and trailers clanged and rattled down the dirt road to join the first two. All the drivers, shotguns, Landers and Martin gathered around the hood of the Sierra. Arthur spread out a map. He handed out copies to each driver.
“I figure to go up this way,” he traced his finger along the map.
“Past Indian Lakes?” Tyler asked.
“I know there’s talk of troublesome types up there, but the alternatives are going through Nutfield — which is probably worse — or, going the long way around, and we don’t want to spend the fuel for that. Coming back, I figure to come down 3A and on the other side of the lakes, so we don’t use the same road twice.”
“What’s everybody got for radios?” Tyler asked. People dug in their coats, producing an assortment of radio gear. They all agreed upon a few channels.
Arthur proposed a set of call signs, but the driver of the black truck demurred. “That doesn’t sound very serious.”
“That’s the idea,” said Arthur. “You go around sounding all ninja-ops and people start getting curious. Better to be underestimated.” Arthur was chosen as convoy leader, since his Laramie was the biggest and he had the most actual experience in convoys.
“I’m going to take the carbine,” Martin told Dustin. “And one of the walkies.” He took two extra magazines from the safe shelf. “Think you’ll be okay with your shotgun?”
“Sure. I kinda prefer it anyhow. Expecting trouble?” Dustin asked.
“They don’t think so, but I’d hate to run into some ‘ruffians’ and have this thing here at home.” Martin pocketed a half a box of extra rounds too. He closed the safe and handed Dustin the key. “This should just be a day trip. While we’re gone, keep your shotgun handy at all times. Keep the Hi-Point on you too. Issue only the .22 revolver to Adam and Trish for their watches.”
“What about Susan?” Dustin asked.
“What about me?” Susan stood in the doorway.
“Oh, we were discussing the upcoming watches, but you just got off,” said Martin.
“I’d better get out and see where the Dunans are,” Dustin said. “Haven’t seen them for awhile. Take it easy, dad. Come back with a cow, eh?” He winked.
“You know your mother won’t let me have a cow.” He winked back.
“I just got done with my shift,” Susan said. “All those trucks and trailers: that looks like quite the caravan. Everyone has guns to go get some cows? I didn’t know this was going to be a dangerous trip.”
“The others were saying that they didn’t really expect trouble. They figured the risks were low, since they were going to take different routes up and back,” Martin said. “One of them has his wife and son along, so he obviously wasn’t too worried. I asked about Margaret coming along too. They didn’t seemed concerned.”
“Oh, well, then…could I come too?” Susan asked somewhat sheepishly.
“What?” Martin was taken aback. He already had mental images of her staying in the house, where it was safe. “I don’t know…I mean….what if there was some trouble. I think it would be better if you stayed here.”
“Why? You just said they didn’t expect trouble, and that guy had along his wife and son, and you even said she was going. So, you must not think there’ll be any danger either.”
“But.” Martin had already removed his only viable objection. He still did not like the idea of her coming along, though precisely why remained out of focus.
She could see his argument was out of ammunition, but took pity. “If you’d really rather I stayed here, then I will.”
He wanted to say, ‘Good, that’s what I want,’ but that was not true either. The trip seemed like an adventure. After the adventures they had shared on the walk up to New Hampshire, sharing another had its appeal. But, he could not say that out loud.
“I just don’t get why you’d want to come?” he said. Perhaps she had some unrealistic expectation which he could disqualify.
“I’m not sure either. It just sounds like…I don’t know…kind of an adventure.”
Martin cringed inside. She was not supposed to agree with his unspoken notions.
“I mean, things are pretty quiet around here,” she went on. “Not that I’m complaining. I mean, quiet is good, and I don’t mind the chores or doing watch or even learning to shoot. But, those are routine things. This is something different…and what are you doing? Why are you closing your eyes like that?”
“Never mind,” said Martin. “I have my reasons. I have no solid reason why you should not come along.” He knew kryptonite was in the room.
“It looks weird to have you talking to me with your eyes shut like that.”
“I suppose it does, but that’s how it has to be,” he said. “Whether you can come along or not really isn’t up to me. It’s not my convoy. You’ll have to go ask Tyler and Arthur. They’re heading up the trip.”
“Well, there’s no room in Mr. Hendrick’s truck,” Margaret said, shaking her head in veto. “The two brothers in the front, you and me in the back. Our bags take up the middle space.”
It did not take a rocket scientist to see that Margaret did not want there to be any room in Tyler’s truck. So, Martin scuttled suggesting that the bags could ride in the pickup bed or in the trailer. Such ‘helpful’ suggestions would not be appreciated.
“Mr. Landers and the other guy are in the gray truck,” Margaret continued. “Mr. Cauloff and the other driver are in the black one…”
“She could ride with us, said Arthur. “We’ve got room for one more.” They turned and walked toward their truck.
“Oh cool!” Susan beamed and bounced on her toes subtly. “Thank you, thank you.” She seemed unsure who to thank. She flashed a little smile at Martin, then hurried to catch up with the Emulari family. She climbed into the back seat of the dark red Laramie.
Martin turned to Dustin. “You’re the Duty Officer until I get back, understand?” Dustin nodded. Martin made eye contact with Adam, Trish and Judy who stood behind him. “He’s in charge until we get back. Just do your part.”
Margaret tossed her day bag into the back seat of the Sierra. “Why did she want to come along?”
“I tried to suggest she stay here, but she wanted some adventure, or something.” Martin tossed in his bag and climbed in the other side. Tyler and Charles studied their small map, noting the waypoints marked in red. After a quick radio check-in from each truck, the Cheshire Cow Convoy started to roll.
“You know how I feel about cows,” Margaret said quietly. She continued to watch the bare trees glide by.
“I know,” said Martin. “But you said we needed more protein sources.”
“We do. I’m just not thrilled. When I graduated high school, I couldn’t wait to get off the farm. When I left for college, I had truly hoped I had seen the last of tending cows.”
“This is Big Apple to dumplings.” hissed the walkie-talkie on the dashboard. “We’re coming up on Indian Lakes in a bit. All eyes peeled.”
“Charles and I will take the front quarters,” Tyler said over his shoulder. “You two take rear quarters. Call ‘em out if you see anything.”
There was not much to see for several miles: bare branches, naked tree trunks and the occasional house that looked abandoned.
The radio hissed: “Alert, sight four people in woods on left. Fifteen yards in. Go porcupine.”<
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“We see ‘em too,” replied one of the trucks ahead.
“We’re going porcupine,” said Tyler. “Windows down. Guns ready. Barrels visible. Charles, Martin, keep eyes on your quarters. Don’t want any surprises cuz we’re all looking on one side.”
Cold air rushed through the cab of the truck. Martin braced himself against the seat back of the front seat. His hand, under the fore-grip of his carbine, rested on the open window sill. Margaret set herself in position against the driver’s seat, the way she saw Martin brace himself. She held her pistol at high ready as she looked over her shoulder to get a look at the people in the woods.
She’s a cool cucumber, Martin thought as he watched Margaret scanning the woods for a first glimpse. Margaret was never one to utter girly screams. Even when she spotted a spider — which she hated — discovering one was stated as a matter-of-fact problem to be solved. ‘Martin. I have something for you to deal with.’ He knew that meant she had found a spider. At least he was of value to her as spider cleanup. Now with even the prospect of ‘ruffians’, Martin could see her head scanning in the same quick sweeps that she did when on spider-alert. This time, however, she was ready to face these spiders with one in the chamber and the safety off.
Martin wondered if Susan was regretting her desire for adventure.
Tyler keyed his radio. “Big dumpling sees ‘em too.”
“They’re not doing anything,” Margaret said. “They’re just watching us go past.”
“That’s good,” said Tyler. “Stay sharp, though. They could still be eyes for a group further up.”
If they were part of a group further up the road, that second group never showed itself. The rest of the route through the Indian Lakes area had no more sightings. Nonetheless, it made Martin and the others too busy being alert to make conversation.
After waypoint four, Arthur called off the porcupine. It felt good to get the windows back up. Arthur kept a brisk pace, so the wind-chill was stiffening hands and drying out eyes.
93 seemed safer, as the brush line was farther from the pavement. Buildings were farther away too. Being more exposed made them vulnerable to snipers, if there were any. Martin hoped the element of surprise would mean no one was in a sniper position. The sheet metal of the truck would not stop bullets. Pickups were not Humvees.
Martin smiled to himself, recalling that he had never seen 93 empty. Even coming home on the last flight in: 93 always had traffic. When traffic was heavy, three lanes seemed almost claustrophobic for lack of maneuvering room.
As the caravan of trucks and trailers headed north, 93 seemed like an extravagant waste of pavement. They were the only thing on the road. Modern highway engineering had pulled nature away from the road, and erected sound barrier walls between traffic and homes, there was nothing to see. No one called out any sightings all the way past Manchester. It was not hard to imagine that they were the only people on the planet.
“Hey,” Margaret called out. “I see a guy up on the rocks there, in the median. Look.”
Martin’s eyes followed her pointed finger. There was a man, crouched down within a v-notch of the granite bluff in the median — what remained of a solid-rock hill blasted away to make room for a flat interstate. Martin only got a glimpse before they had driven past and the trailer obscured his view.
“I didn’t see anything,” said Tyler. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“I saw him too,” said Martin. “One guy in a gray hoodie with blue sleeves.”
“That’s what I saw,” said Margaret. “I didn’t see any guns or anything, just that one guy.”
Tyler keyed his radio. “Did any of you spot anyone on port side, a second ago, on top of the rocks in the median?”
“Negative, Big Dumpling,” said one of the others.
“Negative,” said Arthur.
“Looks like a we had a brief sighting,” Tyler radioed. “Keep eyes peeled up there.”
There were no more sightings. They blew through the empty toll station. The highway up to Concord was just as empty, with nothing but trees to see. It seemed more like off-peak tourist season than post-apocalyptic.
“Coming up on waypoint fifteen,” crackled the radio.
“We’re almost to Concord,” Tyler said. “We’ll be back in the land of people again, so keep eyes on your quarters.”
Where 93 had been desolate landscape, Concord was a kicked hornet’s nest. People seemed to be walking everywhere. The convoy of four trucks and trailers garnered more than a few comments, stares and pointing. The streets looked normal, still lined with many parked cars. Whether any of them were still drivable or sat in the same parking spot for the past two weeks, was not obvious. The absence of functioning traffic lights was about the only outward flaw in the appearance of normal.
The radio on the dash hissed. “Let’s go around this block up left here, and all pull up in a line on Capitol Street. It looked like there was room there for all of us.”
“Roger that,” crackled the other drivers.
They stowed their long guns before getting out of the trucks. People walking on the sidewalks stopped to stare. Martin noticed that there were no cars driving on the roads: only parked ones. Perhaps they had not seen moving vehicles for several days and this was a novelty. The people seemed more apprehensive than scheming.
The convoy’s occupants gathered in a largish cluster on the sidewalk near the State House building. Several small side conversations started, but were interrupted by a man rushing up to them.
“You’re late!” said Mr. Ingalls. “Thank goodness you made it, but there isn’t much time. Quickly, come this way.” He waved for Martin and Landers to follow him. The others in their party began to follow too, but Ingalls held up his hand. “I’m sorry. It’s rather crowded inside already. I must ask you all to wait out here.” He turned attention to Martin and Landers again, dissatisfied that they had stopped. “This way. Come on, come on.” Ingalls hurried up the granite steps.
At the State House
The lobby of the State House was full of people, all bundled up in winter coats and hats. Ingalls led them around tall white columns and into a hallway. “There’s already a couple groups in with the governor now. If we hurry, we can be ready when they’re done.”
The hallways felt all the more narrow with the knots of people chatting together. It seemed like every linear foot of wall space was taken up by portraits of stern looking men in 1700s or 1800s attire. The white walls and floors helped reflect what little light came through the tall windows in rooms off the hallway.
“Wait over there,” said Ingalls. “It looks like the governor isn’t done with the last group yet. I’ll go in and see. You can have a seat if you like.” Ingalls pointed to some high-backed leather chairs along the wall. More knots of people carried on their conversations in the waiting room, despite Ingalls, Martin and Landers walking through, interrupting them.
“Any ideas what this is all about?” Martin asked Landers.
“I didn’t get much out of Ingalls yesterday, but connecting the dots, I’d guess the state is in some kind of trouble.”
“What kind of trouble? And what would it have to do with us?”
“Not sure,” said Landers. “This outage has everything scrambled. That governor’s statement I read yesterday, sounded like the state was hamstrung to much of anything.”
“I got that,” said Martin. “But why ask us up here?”
“Maybe they just wanted to impound our trucks and trailers and this was a ruse to get us to deliver them.” Landers tried to chuckle.
Martin frowned. He had not thought of the state trying to impound whatever it wanted. They were not his trucks or trailers, but the effrontery raised hackles. Yet, he had seen nothing to raise suspicions. The state seemed more fuddled and impotent than devious. They also left a sizable party with the vehicles. He should have heard something on his walkie-talkie if there was trouble.
Landers noticed tha
t Martin was not chuckling along. “Sorry, guess I don’t have Hooper’s sense of humor.”
The tall double doors opened. A cluster of people, still engaged in conversations, ambled slowly through the doorway. Ingalls, the governor and a pair of other staffers were chatting. Martin recognized the two men coming out of the governor’s office.
“Leo?” Martin said. He walked closer to them. “Leo Walsh? And David?”
Leo looked at Martin blankly. No mental caller-ID was coming up for him. David, on the other hand, smiled broadly. “Hey! You’re that Marvin guy.”
“Martin.”
