Fuel wasn’t plentiful, but it was adequate, helped no doubt by scavengers concentrating on gasoline rather than the diesel their Humvees guzzled. Luke smiled at the memory of their only ‘armed confrontation’ at a dilapidated country store as they hand-pumped diesel into their Jerry cans. An older gentleman had appeared, brandishing a shotgun and less than happy over the theft of fuel. Some placating discussion and allowing him his choice of the contents of the stores truck ended the affair without bloodshed.
“Won’t be long now,” Gibson said from behind the wheel. “My folks’ place is just past this intersection with fifty-three.”
“Anxious to get home?” Luke asked.
Gibson gave a solemn nod. “And kind of afraid of what I might find. My folks’ farm is back here in the sticks, though, so I ain’t too worried. I joined the Corps ‘cause I never much wanted to be a farmer, but I gotta admit, when times get tough, at least country folks have something to eat.”
“That’s a fact,” Luke said, just as they passed the intersection, another paved rural road leading off to the left at an angle. Ahead he could just make out the guardrails of a fairly substantial bridge of some sort, but Gibson slowed and made a right turn onto a gravel track before they reached the bridge.
“This leads to my folks’ place. My family owns a pretty fair strip of land between this road and the river beyond the trees to our left. Almost four hundred acres all told. Been in the family since before the war,” Gibson said. Despite his professed aversion to farming, Luke could hear pride of ownership in the young man’s voice.
“World War Two?”
Gibson laughed. “The War Between the States.”
“There have been a few since then, you know,” Luke said.
“Yeah, but none of ‘em happened in North Carolina,” Gibson replied, still smiling. Then his smile faded. “Leastwise, not until now.”
Luke nodded and they rode in silence for a couple of minutes until Gibson took his foot off the gas and let the vehicle roll to a stop.
“What’s up?” Luke asked.
“Our driveway’s about a hundred yards ahead on the left. Might be better if I went ahead on foot. My dad’s a veteran, but he ain’t a real big fan of the government in the best of times. No tellin’ how he might take it if two armed Humvees roll in, especially with these uniforms. If there are SRF units up here, and they got ‘em doing what we was doing in Florida, I think we got about a fifty-fifty chance of a warm reception.”
“How’s that going to be any different if you go in alone? You’re still wearing the uniform,” Luke said.
“Because I’m walking up the driveway with my helmet off and my hands up, yelling ‘Dad, don’t shoot,’ that’s why.”
“And what happens if someone other than your folks are there and they’re not friendly?” Luke shook his head. “I don’t like it, Gibson. You do it your way, but I’m trailing behind out of sight to lay down some covering fire in case you gotta turn around and beat feet out of there.”
“Look, LT, I know you mean well, but—”
“No buts, Gibson. I can’t stop you from going in like you want, but you can’t stop me from providing backup. That’s just the way it is.”
Gibson sighed. “Okay, LT, I’ll give you the layout, but be careful. Even with me there, Dad’s not gonna take kindly to anyone pointing a gun at him.”
The feeling’s mutual, thought Luke, but he only nodded.
They exited their vehicle and Gibson described the entrance to his family’s farm and briefed the others before he set off for the house with only his sidearm. His helmet was off and suspended from his web gear. Luke let him get fifty yards ahead and started through the tall grass in the field to his left, heading for the sunken creek Gibson told him ran roughly parallel to the road. He hit it and jogged upstream, hidden by the creek banks. He rounded a bend to see a large culvert ahead where the driveway crossed the creek. He redoubled his efforts, splashing through the shallow creek to the culvert and then crawling up the left bank, to peek over and see Gibson’s back as he walked, hands above his head, toward an ancient, but well-maintained farmhouse with a large barn nearby. Luke sighted his assault rifle on the house in the distance beyond Gibson.
“HELLO IN THE HOUSE! DON’T SHOOT! IT’S ME, DONNY!”
For a long minute, nothing happened, then the door of the house opened, followed by the squeak of the wooden screen door. A man appeared holding a rifle. His body language was tentative as he peered into the distance.
“DONNY? PRAISE GOD! IS THAT REALLY YOU, BOY?”
“IT’S ME, DAD—”
Luke heard the squawk of a radio and he watched in his scope as the man raised a walkie-talkie to his face, but he was too far away to hear what was said. The man on the porch looked up, his body language changing from tentative to tense.
“DONNY! GET DOWN!” the man shouted, and the dirt immediately in front of Luke exploded in his face from the impact of a three-round burst. He jerked his head back below the bank just as another burst shredded the earth where his head had been. In the near distance behind him, he heard the Humvees firing up, no doubt intent on bringing their Ma Deuces to bear if the Gibson homestead was occupied by bad guys. This was going to hell in a hurry, thought Luke as he chanced another quick ‘peek and duck,’ rewarded by another three-round burst.
“DAD! RICHARD! STOP SHOOTING! THEY’RE FRIENDS!”
Luke heard footsteps pounding toward him and ducked into the metal culvert under the driveway, just to be on the safe side.
“LT? LT? Are you hit?” came Gibson’s voice above him.
“Not yet,” Luke said as he moved out of the culvert and looked up, “but I’m not sure I like my odds. Are they done shooting at me yet?”
Gibson moved to the side of the stream and reached down a hand. “Yeah, and you’re lucky. My brother, Richard, don’t miss too often.”
Luke took Gibson’s offered hand and pulled himself up the steep creek bank just as the little convoy roared around the turn into the driveway. Luke signaled them to hold in place and turned to follow Gibson back toward the farmhouse and Gibson’s father, who was now off the porch and halfway down the long driveway, running to meet them. In the distance over the approaching man’s shoulder, Luke saw another figure exit the barn and rush toward them, a rifle slung across his back.
Gibson’s dad reached them and wrapped his son in a hug. “Donny! Thank God you’re home, boy. Your mom’s been worried sick ever since the lights went out.” The man straightened and released his son. “I’m sure glad to see you, but what are y’all doing here?”
“It’s a long story, Dad. But first meet Lieutenant Kinsey. LT, this is my dad,” Gibson said.
The older man extended his hand to Luke. “Vern Gibson, Lieutenant, and sorry about before. We thought you was holding a gun on Donny.”
“Understandable, Mr. Gibson and no harm done. And call me Luke. I expect I’m not a lieutenant anymore anyway.”
Vern Gibson eyed their uniforms. “I was wonderin’ about that, but I expect we’ll get to—”
“Damn, Donny! If it weren’t bad enough you was a jarhead, it looks like you done changed sides again,” Richard Gibson said as he approached, the fierce hug he gave his brother giving lie to his taunt.
Luke assessed the newcomer quickly. He was an inch or so taller and perhaps a decade older than Donny Gibson, but there could be no mistaking they were brothers. Richard Gibson moved with the quiet confidence of a soldier, or at least a former soldier, but there was something a bit awkward in the hug. It took a moment to realize Richard’s gloved left hand was actually a prosthetic.
Donny Gibson returned his brother’s hug and then pushed him back and grinned. “Well, you ought to get along well with the LT here, aside from almost killin’ him, I mean. He’s one of you idiots who jumps out of perfectly good aircraft.”
Richard looked at Luke and smiled. “Sorry about that, but I have to say this is about the only time I’ve been happy I’m not
quite as accurate as I was before I lost the hand.” He held up the prosthetic left hand and then extended his real right hand to Luke. “Richard Gibson, formerly of the 82nd Airborne.”
“Luke Kinsey, 101st … formerly of the 101st Airborne.”
“Dopes on ropes?” Richard asked, his wide grin taking the sting out of his words.
Luke laughed. “Can’t say I haven’t felt like it at times.” Then he grew serious as he nodded at the other man’s prosthetic. “Sandbox?”
Richard nodded. “IED in Anbar Province. I got off lucky compared to—”
“DONNY!” a small woman screamed, and then launched herself at Donny Gibson, hugging him fiercely and laughing and crying simultaneously. “Oh, thank you, Jesus! You’ve brought my baby home to me safe and sound.”
Luke watched as the woman continued to hang on to Donny Gibson for all she was worth, rocking on her feet and overcome with emotion, unable to speak. Young Gibson returned her fierce hug then gradually tried to release her as his face colored in embarrassment, but his mother was clamped tight. After a long moment he whispered something in her ear and gently but firmly pushed her back. Anger flashed across her face.
“Well, you may not be a baby, young man, but you’re MY baby and don’t you forget it …”
She turned and saw the men all grinning at her, joined now by an attractive younger woman, joining the group in the first woman’s wake.
“What are you grinning at, Vernon Gibson? And just when did you plan on coming to tell me Donny was home? Or were you just planning on leaving me and Evie down in that hidey-hole until it dawned on you I might be a little interested my youngest son was home?”
“I’m sorry, Virginia. I was just—”
“You were just out here having a ‘man talk’ without concern as to what it was like for Evie and me stuck down in the dark, listening to gunfire and not knowin’ if you two were alive or dead. THAT’s what you were doing.”
“I’m sorry, Virginia, but—”
“Don’t you ‘I’m sorry’ me, Mr. Vernon Gibson. And I’ll tell you another thing! That is the LAST time I’m goin’ in that hole. I can shoot near as good as you and Richard, and if there’s a threat, I’m gonna be right beside you defendin’ this place. Is that clear?”
Vern Gibson sighed. “Yes, ma’am.”
Virginia Gibson sniffed and turned to Luke.
“And who might you be, young man?”
“Luke Kinsey, ma’am. I’m—”
“Anyone who can bring my son home safe and sound in these troubled times is welcome in my home,” she said, looking over his shoulder and down the driveway. “And I suppose those men and trucks belong with you. How many of y’all are there?”
“Six counting Gibs … six counting Donny,” Luke said.
“Well, I suspect y’all are hungry, seems like everybody is these days. Come on in and I’ll fix y’all a home-cooked meal. Have to be breakfast this late in the morning and on short notice, but I’ll feed y’all enough to hold you until supper time and then do something special to celebrate Donny’s homecoming.” She turned back to her husband without waiting for a reply.
“Vernon, best git them army trucks out of sight in the barn before somebody comes by and gets nosy, then show these fellas where to wash up. Richard, bring in some more wood and stir the fire up in the cookstove, then bring in all the extra eggs and some more of that bacon. Eva and I are going to start making biscuits.”
She motioned to the other woman and they both started for the house, heads together as they planned the impromptu meal. Luke watched them go, a bit shell-shocked at the sudden turn of events.
“We best git movin’, Lieutenant,” Vern Gibson said. “Virginia can get real mean when she’s riled up.”
“She’s not riled up yet?”
Vern Gibson laughed. “Oh, hell no. Not by a long shot.”
***
The meal was simple and bountiful—huge platters of scrambled eggs and bacon, accompanied by heaped plates of biscuits with small crocks of fresh butter and homemade preserves, all of which the two women kept constantly refilled, and washed down with cold milk from heavy stoneware pitchers. Except for Donny Gibson, the men ate tentatively at first, feeling guilty about depleting the family’s stores. However, repeated assurances there was ‘plenty more’ and the temptation of the best food they’d seen in weeks soon ate through their restraint. They began shoveling it down while Virginia Gibson looked on with approval, ready to refill the platters.
Finally Sergeant Joel Washington had his fill and leaned back in his chair.
“Ma’am, I do believe that was the best meal I’ve ever eaten in my entire life.”
There was a chorus of agreement around the table as Virginia Gibson blushed. “It’s nothing special, just eggs and such,” she said. “I expect y’all were just hungry is all.”
“We were that,” Luke said, “but the meal was outstanding nonetheless. However, I’m still concerned we’re depleting your stores. We didn’t mean to come in and eat you out of house and home.”
“Not a problem,” Vern Gibson said. “We always had extra milk and eggs we sold, but we been keeping close to home what with things the way they are. Most folks around here been doing likewise, so y’all just ate up what was likely to go bad anyway.”
“How do you keep the milk cold?” Neal Long asked. “You got a generator?”
Vern Gibson nodded. “We got a little generator in the barn, but we only use it when we have to. But folks was keepin’ milk cold a long time before we got electricity in these parts. We got a springhouse that’s been here almost two hundred years. It’s the same spring where we get our drinking water.”
“Looks like you’ve got a pretty good setup,” Luke said.
Vern nodded again. “Too good maybe. This ain’t been goin’ on all that long, but I’m worried as it gets worse we’re going to see more folks comin’ around trying to take what don’t belong to ‘em. As a matter of fact, there’s only two other farms on this road and yesterday we all agreed to plow up the gravel road from the state highway until our driveway and let it go back natural, just to keep strangers from poking their noses down the road. Ain’t no point in invitin’ trouble. Most of the farms here border the river, and we figure we can use it for transportation and tradin’ among ourselves, just like folks did in the old days.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Luke said, smiling as he nodded toward Donny Gibson, “and you’ve got another good man to help with defense.”
Donny Gibson flushed as his father nodded. “And we’re obliged for you helping him get home. Y’all can stay here as long as you like. There ain’t room in the house for everybody, but we can make the barn pretty comfortable this time of the year, and I’m sure we can find another woodstove before winter sets in. I figure farming’s gonna get a lot more labor intensive, and Lord knows we can use the extra firepower if things get bad.” He smiled. “And it ain’t a bad place for outlaws to hang out. I reckon nobody’s gonna be lookin’ for you here.”
Luke nodded. “That’s a generous offer and we, or at least some of us, might take you up on it. But I really want to try to connect with my dad first. He’s at the Coast Guard station down at Oak Island.”
“Family’s important,” Vern agreed. “How you figure to get there?”
“That’s a problem,” Luke said. “I think we’ve been pushing our luck a bit, riding around in the Humvees and these uniforms. We haven’t had any problems in the countryside, but I don’t know exactly what to expect closer to a population center. For sure, we’ll attract more notice, and if it’s of the ‘official’ variety, we’ll either get in a shootout or have to surrender. Even if we run into troops who don’t know we’re AWOL, they’re likely gonna want to conscript us and our vehicles into their operation—not too many military commanders would warm to the idea of a lieutenant running around doing whatever he pleases. Do you have any idea what’s going on in the city?”
“Not a real good idea, but
we do have kind of a grapevine,” Vern said. “I hear it’s pretty bad with no law left to speak of. The gangs are runnin’ things and they’re starting to spread out from the city. One of our neighbors took his boat down quiet like one night and said there’s some soldiers around the docks and a Coast Guard patrol boat in the river, but he didn’t contact ‘em. He just looked around a bit and came home.”
Luke sat up straighter at the mention of the boat. “If we can contact the Coast Guard boat, I might be able to get word to my dad.”
Vern nodded. “We got a couple of boats and I can take you downriver. Between me, Richard, and Donny, I reckon we can get you all into civvies. If we get stopped by the wrong folks, you’re just farmers from upriver, comin’ in to check out the situation.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Luke said.
Appalachian Trail
Mile Marker 998.6 Northbound
East of Bluemont, Virginia
Day 16, 3:00 p.m.
Bill Wiggins stopped to catch his breath, trying to ignore the pack straps cutting into his shoulders and his aching back and feet. Tex stepped up beside him and looked up the hill.
She flashed a weary smile. “Only another half mile.”
Wiggins snorted. “It’s not the half mile I mind. It’s the three-hundred-foot vertical part.”
She nodded and took the lead. He fell in behind her to trudge up the incline.
It was their second full day afoot and they’d covered barely twenty-five miles total. The afternoon they’d fled, the first three miles were a steep climb, and he immediately doubted the wisdom of overloading their packs. They reached the ridgetop and only two miles further when by mutual agreement, they moved off the trail and made cold camp. They’d used the remaining daylight to empty and reload their packs, abandoning heavier items they’d grabbed in their hasty flight. The only consolation was eating their fill of food they would have otherwise left behind. They started the next day on full stomachs.
Under a Tell-Tale Sky: Disruption - Book 1 Page 27
