***
Luke stared out the window as the Humvee moved along US 17 North, aka Main Street North. There were cars stopped in the middle of the road where they ran out of gas, but the drivers of most had coasted to the right shoulder, no doubt sure they would come back ‘when things got back to normal’ to retrieve their vehicles. The two Humvees were traveling at a steady clip of thirty to thirty-five miles per hour, with two commandeered civilian pickups sandwiched between them, all maintaining their safety intervals to allow them reaction time if the driver ahead had to swerve around obstacles in the road.
He’d chosen US 17 in preference to I-95 a bit further to the west, because intelligence from chopper flyovers indicated I-95 was a parking lot, with refugees straggling its entire length, heading north. Luke wondered briefly what would happen when the northbound refugees met the no doubt equally desperate southbound horde from Savannah. By all accounts, the situation was dire, with bodies beside the interstate, bloating in the Florida sun. Impromptu refugee camps had sprung up around both abutments of the Nassau River bridge, where people too exhausted or discouraged to move on were fighting for the limited shade of scrubby trees and drinking the near brackish river water. It wasn’t something he was eager to see—each foray ‘outside the wire’ brought fresh scenes of horror.
Nor was this route free of horrors. His driver swerved around a late model BMW with both front doors open, blocking the view ahead, then swerved again to avoid the bodies of an elderly couple lying in the road, their mangled skulls leaving no doubt they’d met a violent end.
“Jesus!” Long said, instinctively slowing the vehicle. “Should I stop, LT?”
Luke shook his head. “They’re beyond help, and unfortunately I suspect that’s a sight we’ll be seeing a lot more of. But call back and advise the others to watch it when they pass the BMW.”
Long complied and Luke studied the passing landscape, mostly pine forest on the left with scattered residential neighborhoods on the right. His orders were to bypass them all and go straight north to the town of Yulee, turning east there on A1A toward Amelia Island and Fernandina Beach. Rorke seemed to think the A1A corridor was far enough from Jacksonville proper to hold ‘greater promise,’ and Luke was instructed to find and work the most promising subdivisions while identifying others for attention by additional ‘recon teams.’ It hadn’t escaped his notice the area was also far enough away from any FEMA command presence for Rorke’s ‘off the book’ operations to go largely unnoticed. FEMA would likely turn a blind eye in any event, but Luke sensed Rorke was being careful to avoid anything that might create a conflict with his benefactors.
***
Thirty minutes later they were headed east on A1A when they reached a commercial retail area on the left, a long row of fast-food outlets and chain restaurants lining the road in front of expansive parking lots serving big-box stores of various types. Luke spotted the sign for a Publix supermarket and directed Long to pull into the parking lot. It was a long shot at this point, but if they could scrape together a reasonable yield from the supermarket, they might minimize the civilian contact he was dreading. The rest of the little convoy followed his vehicle into the deserted parking lot and came to rest in front of the supermarket.
“Long, get up on the Ma Deuce and keep your eyes open,” Luke said. “I don’t think we should have any problems, but let’s be careful.”
“Roger that, LT,” Long said, as Luke dismounted.
Washington walked up as Luke was getting out of the Humvee, a look of doubt on his face.
“I know, I know,” Luke said. “It’s probably stripped, but it doesn’t hurt to look. Take two guys and do a quick recon. If the shelves are bare, check to see if there’s anything left in back.”
“Roger that,” Washington said, then yelled, “Gibson, Abrams, you’re with me. Move your asses.”
The three men disappeared into the building and came out a few minutes later. Washington emerged last and gave Luke a shake of his head as he approached.
“Damn, it stinks in there,” Washington said.
“Rotten meat and fish?” Luke asked.
“Among other things. It’s bad in there, LT—three bodies, two women and a man. Looks like the women were shot and the man’s head was beat in with a can of creamed corn. The can busted and it’s lying there in his blood.”
Luke suppressed a shudder. “I don’t suppose there was any food?”
“Not a crumb anywhere—unless you count the creamed corn,” Washington said.
“All right, I guess we have to do this. Leave Long on the Ma Deuce and get everyone else down here so we can go over the op.”
Washington nodded and began shouting orders and the men gathered around Luke.
“All right, given all the commercial development, I’m thinking there are plenty of subdivisions nearby. We’re going to head south at the last intersection we went through and find the first one. I’ll drive one Humvee with Long up top and Sergeant Washington will drive the second one with Gibson on the Ma Deuce there. We’ll stay in reserve to respond with overwhelming force if need be. I doubt we need it, but better safe than sorry.”
There were nods of agreement as Luke continued. “Grogan, I want you and Morton in one pickup and Corley and Abrams in the other. You guys will be going door-to-door in pairs to collect, one street at a time. Washington’s Humvee will take a position at the entrance to the street being worked by Grogan and Morton, and Long and I will support Corley and Abrams. If either group runs into a big problem, specifically armed resistance, I want BOTH Humvees to respond, and the collection team that’s temporarily unsupported is just to hold in place. Is that clear?”
Again there were nods before Luke continued, “Now get this straight, we’re not going in and stripping these people of all their food. I want you to go door-to-door, identify yourselves as members of the FEMA Special Reaction Force and politely but firmly inform residents there is a mandatory food collection operation in process. Tell them though we are authorized to seize all food and fuel, we will only requisition fifty percent of their stores at this time, assuming they cooperate. Tell them they have ten minutes to collect their contribution and bring it curbside to load into the pickup, then move on to the next house. Inform them if we believe they’re holding back, we will enter their homes to verify the amounts. Further inform them if verification shows they failed to deliver fifty percent of their stores, we will take it all. You are to stay together and you are NOT to threaten them, harm them in any way beyond the warning I have indicated, or enter their houses. Is that clear?”
“That’s bullshit,” Grogan said. “This ain’t a food drive. They’ll just give as little as they think they can get away with and it’ll all be crappy stuff. This ain’t what Colonel Rorke wants and you know it, Kinsey.”
Washington moved towards Grogan, but Luke waved him off. “We may get less than half of what they have,” Luke said, “but I’m betting there are plenty of houses and we’ll get enough to fill these two pickups before the day is out, and without harming anyone or leaving them completely without food. Since that’s all we can carry anyway, that seems like a win for all concerned or, at least, less of a loss.” Luke’s voice hardened, “And that PRIVATE Grogan, is the first and last time I ever intend to explain an order to you. And you will address me as sir or lieutenant, or Lieutenant Kinsey, or even LT, but if you ever disrespect me again, it will be the last time you disrespect anyone. Is that clear?”
Grogan glared and, after a long moment, bobbed his head once.
“I didn’t hear you, Private. I asked you if that was clear?”
“Yes, SIR,” hissed Grogan between clenched teeth.
“Good, now are there any other questions?” Luke asked.
Corley, one of the new men, raised his hand and Luke nodded.
“Ahh … what if no one answers the door, LT?”
Luke considered a moment. “In that case,” he said, “pound on the door with the butt of your weap
on and announce loudly you assume the house is abandoned and you’re going to break in. Give anyone inside a couple of minutes to respond. If no one responds, notify us you have a potential breach situation and then breach the door. That is the ONLY circumstance under which you will enter a home without a specific direct order from either myself or Sergeant Washington. Is that clear?”
There was a muted chorus of ‘yes, sirs,’ and Luke nodded at Washington.
“All right,” Washington yelled, “let’s mount up and get to it.”
***
They found the first residential area a half mile south of the intersection on the left side of the road, where what had been a carefully landscaped side road marked the entrance to an upscale subdivision of large new homes on spacious lots between the main thoroughfare and a man-made lake. Homes backing on to the busier main street were protected by a handsome brick privacy wall at least twelve feet high.
The little convoy turned into the subdivision entrance and immediately encountered conditions requiring a plan modification. The entrance yielded on to a small traffic circle with streets branching off to the left and right. After a hurried consultation between Luke and Washington, they decided both Humvees would maintain station at the traffic circle, with Grogan and Morton working the street to the south while Corley and Abrams took the street to the north.
The two collection teams parked their pickups a half-dozen houses down their respective streets and started canvassing. The civilian responses varied from tentative to argumentative, but politely meeting resistance with a few minutes of interaction before dropping the not-so-veiled threat of total confiscation and then moving on was working well. After reflection, all of the residents decided giving up something under their control was much preferable to having these intruders in their homes. In a few minutes, sullen residents emerged from their homes with plastic grocery bags and cardboard boxes, usually small, to cast resentful looks at the Humvees as they deposited their meager offerings into the bed of the waiting pickups. The process was slow, but it was undoubtedly faster and less stressful than having a confrontation at every house. The threat of entering nonresponsive houses was also effective, as several homeowners answered their doors just before Luke authorized breaches.
“So far, so good,” said Luke, as he stood with Washington in the little traffic circle next to the two Humvees.
Washington grunted, “True, but that asshole Grogan was right about one thing. I suspect we’re getting a ton of creamed spinach and pickled beets.”
Luke shrugged. “Rorke said food, he wasn’t specific.”
Washington chuckled. Every fifteen or twenty minutes, the collection teams moved the slowly filling pickups a few houses down the street, diverging in opposite directions from the Humvees. At the ninety-minute mark, the Corley and Abrams team still had a long stretch of straight street visible ahead, but the pickup assigned to Grogan and Morton was moving abreast of an intersection. Washington climbed into the driver’s seat of the Humvee and keyed the mike on the radio.
“Shopping Cart Four, this is Shopping Cart Two, do you copy? Over,” Washington said.
“Shopping Cart Two, this is Shopping Cart Four, go ahead. Over,” came Grogan’s voice over the speaker.
“Four, what is the status of the side street? Is it a through street? Over.”
“Negative Two, I say again negative. It’s a cul-de-sac. Over.”
“We copy, Four, intersection is a cul-de-sac. Leave your vehicle parked on this street where we can keep it under observation and have residents carry their … their …” Washington was momentarily stumped as to what to call the food they were collecting. Donations? Contributions? Tribute? After a moment he punted, “Their stuff out to the truck.”
“Shopping Cart Two this is Shopping Cart Four. We copy. Anything else? Over.”
“Yes, Four, please say estimated time to clear the cul-de-sac. Over,” Washington said.
“About a dozen houses. At five minutes a house, I estimate one hour minimum. Over,” Grogan said.
“Two, I copy. We will not have a visual on you, so if you run into problems, get on the horn ASAP. Over.”
“Affirmative Two. Shopping Cart Four out,” Grogan said.
Washington racked the mike and crawled out of the Humvee to stand beside Luke.
“You heard?” Washington asked.
Luke nodded.
“You think I should move down and cover them in the cul-de-sac?” Washington asked.
Luke looked down the road in both directions and then back at the entrance to the subdivision.
“No,” he said, “because it’s just dawning on me this might not be the best place to be. We got a lake on one side and a pretty stout brick wall on the other, and this entrance is the only way through the wall we know of. We could probably bust through if need be, but I don’t see any place to get a running start. So no, Sergeant, I’m fine with both the Humvees here watching our six unless we actually need to provide close support. Better safe than sorry.”
Washington nodded. “I agree. Hopefully we’ll have the trucks full in another couple of hours and we can get the hell out of here.”
***
“This blows,” Morton said as he and Grogan trudged across the lawn of the first house on the left in the neat cul-de-sac. “We’ll be dicking around for hours doing this touchy-feely shit, and we could have already filled both trucks up a couple of times over if we just cleaned out the first six or eight houses we hit. Publix and those other stores aren’t far away, and if these assholes are still all hunkered down in these houses, I’m thinking they got at least some of the loot. I’m betting they got plenty stashed.”
“Tell me about it,” Grogan said. “Kinsey’s a prick. Him and his crap rules … hey, I just thought of something!”
“What?”
“Since they can’t see us, let’s speed things up. Washington’s expecting us to be here an hour at least, so we can ditch all that nicey-nice crap and work all these houses and then take a break.”
“Sounds good to me, bro,” Morton replied just as they reached the front door of the house.
Grogan grinned and pulled open the storm door to hammer on the inner door with the butt of his weapon, leaving dents in the beautifully stained wooden door.
“OPEN UP! FEMA! OFFICIAL BUSINESS!” he yelled. Beside him, Morton smirked.
The door opened tentatively to the full width allowed by the security chain and an elderly woman’s face appeared in the crack at waist level. “Y-yes? What is it?” she asked, fear in her voice.
“You got five minutes to get half your food and any fuel to the pickup truck at the entrance to the cul-de-sac,” Grogan snarled. “If it’s not out there in time, we’re coming back and taking everything you got. Any questions?”
“B-but I don’t have much—”
“Not my problem,” Grogan said, “comply or we’ll come back and take it all.”
“I-I’m in a wheelchair. I can’t get it out to the stree—”
“Again, not my problem, grandma,” Grogan said. “But if it ain’t out to the truck in five, we’ll be back to help you, and I guarantee you won’t like it. You have a nice fucking day!”
Morton burst out laughing as the two turned to cut across the yard to the next house.
“Outstanding,” Morton said.
Grogan smirked, pleased with himself. “Did you time me?”
“A minute, more or less.”
“I’m gonna try to do the next one in forty-five,” Grogan said.
“Shit no, man! Let’s take turns,” Morton said. “I bet I make the next one in under thirty.”
“All right, that’ll make it interesting. What’s the bet?”
Morton thought for a minute. “I got two six packs of brew stashed. How about you?”
“You’re on. I got half a bottle of Jack Black squirreled away. Fastest time takes it all.”
The two raced from house to house down the same side of the street, circling
the cul-de-sac as they delivered their eve- briefer ultimatums with cheerful brutality, until they arrived back at the entrance to the cul-de-sac across the street from the old woman’s house.
“I still think you cheated,” Grogan grumbled.
“Seventeen seconds, bro,” Morton chortled, “that Jack is gonna go down so smooth—”
“Watch it, man! You want Washington to see us?” Grogan said, grabbing Morton’s arm and pulling him back as he neared the main road.
Morton grinned. “Sorry, bro, just thinking about that Jack. How much time we got?”
Grogan looked at his watch as Morton eyed the steady stream of residents carrying parcels to the pickup, noting with satisfaction the ‘contributions’ seemed much more substantial.
“That only took us fifteen minutes,” Grogan said. “We got at least forty-five left, easy.”
“This is gonna finish filling the truck,” Morton said. “Maybe we should blow off the break and just report back. Besides, I do want to get me a taste of that Jack.”
“Don’t be a dumb ass. If we show back up in fifteen or twenty minutes, Kinsey’s gonna know we didn’t follow his stupid rules, and give us a ration of shit. We just gotta chill till he’s expecting us. I’m gonna sit my ass down right over there under that big shade tree.”
Morton nodded and the two started across the yard, until Morton grabbed Grogan’s arm and dragged him down behind a hedge.
“Whoa! Dude, check it out!” Morton said, and nodded across the street to the old lady’s house as he peeked up over the hedge.
Grogan followed suit and saw a slim young woman in a sundress carrying two plastic grocery bags and walking down the old lady’s sidewalk, headed for the pickup at the entrance to the cul-de-sac.
“I guess Granny’s ‘I’m all alone in my wheelchair’ story was bullshit,” Morton said.
Grogan nodded as he eyed the woman hungrily. She was in her late teens or early twenties, and the simple sundress did nothing to hide the curves of her slim body. She had long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail.
Under a Tell-Tale Sky: Disruption - Book 1 Page 20
