“Dad? Do you copy? Over.”
Kinsey spoke into the mike. “Yes, Luke, I’m here. It’s great to hear your voice, son. How did you get there? Over.”
“It’s a long story, Dad. I’ll tell you when I see you. What about Kelly and Aunt Connie’s family? Are they okay? Over.”
“I don’t know,” Kinsey said, “but I’m going there as soon as I can. It may take a few days. We have a lot of issues here. Over.”
“Yeah, here too, but I’ll try to get to you all as quick as I can. Meanwhile they don’t want us talking too long, so I need to sign off. Over.”
“Okay. I’ll let you know about the family as soon as I know myself. And work hard on getting here.” Kinsey looked around, a bit embarrassed. “I love you, son. Over.”
“I love you too, Dad. Be careful. This is Fort Box, out.”
Kinsey handed the mike to the second mate and turned to Hughes, still smiling.
“That’s the best news I’ve had in over three weeks,” Kinsey said.
Hughes nodded, returning Kinsey’s smile. “Maybe this will all work out after all, Chief.”
Sun Oil Dock
Neches River
Near Nederland, Texas
Day 18, 9:00 a.m.
Spike McComb stood behind the huge loading arms and looked straight across the river into the anchorage inlet. He glared at the massive ship floating in the distance, with the Coast Guard boat and HIS patrol boat moored to its side. The longer he watched, the madder he got. He exploded at the most convenient target. Snaggle saw it coming and steeled himself before McComb even opened his mouth.
“TWELVE MEN AND MY NEW PATROL BOAT! CAN’T YOU IDIOTS DO ANYTHING RIGHT?”
Snaggle hesitated, unsure of the proper response. He tried positive spin.
“But we know where they are now, right? And they likely can’t get away. That ship ain’t goin’ nowhere fast.”
McComb grabbed Snaggle by the shirt and threw him against a vertical pipe so hard his head bounced off it. “SO WHAT, YOU MORON? THEY GOT OUR BOAT! And did you see that machine gun? They obviously got radar too, so we’re not likely to be able to sneak up on ‘em, and they’ll cut us to pieces crossing open water, even if we get another boat.”
McComb released Snaggle so abruptly the small man banged his head on the pipe a second painful time. McComb turned to glare at the ship once again.
“But I’ll figure out something. ‘Cause this is MY county now, and nobody comes in here and messes with me. I’m gonna have that ship and everybody on it, and you can take that to the friggin’ bank!”
Fort Box
Wilmington Container Terminal
Wilmington, North Carolina
Day 18, 9:30 a.m.
Luke Kinsey stood in the radio room, smiling like an idiot in the wake of his conversation with his father. He’d put the various possibilities out of his mind over the last few stressful weeks, dreading the worst. Confirming his father was alive and safe impacted him more profoundly than he would have thought possible. Now if his sister and Aunt Connie’s family could only be brought to safety, the family group would be complete.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see the smiling face of Major Hunnicutt.
“I imagine there’s a happy man in Texas about now.”
Luke nodded. “No happier than the one right here, Major.”
“So you’re planning on joining your father in Texas? How you gonna get there?”
Luke shrugged. “Not a clue at the moment. Everything happened so fast I haven’t had time to give it any thought.”
“Well, we can provide supplies. That’s the least we can do since y’all rescued Anthony, but beyond that we can’t do much for you.” He hesitated. “Of course, if you change your mind, you’re always welcome here. We can always use more good folks.”
“I appreciate that, but—”
“But family comes first,” Hunnicutt said. “I get that. However, while you ARE here, I’d like to include you in our daily progress meetings so you can get a feel for what we’re trying to accomplish. I’m figuring your dad and Captain Hughes are gonna set something up in Texas, and the more we share info, the better chances we all have to get through this. We’re a long ways apart, but we’ll face similar challenges. And I’d also like you to share what you told me about this Special Reaction Force.”
“Sure, I’d like that. But what’s the setup? I mean, who’s in charge? Is it military or civilian or what?”
Hunnicutt grinned. “We’re sort of making it up as we go along. I’m senior military, but both Sergeant Wright and Chief Butler have a lot of experience and some damn good ideas. And Levi Jenkins isn’t military at all, but he’s got a better handle on this whole situation than all of us put together, so he’s welcome to the meetings anytime he’s here. Then together we pick other folks to attend the meetings if we have any need for their particular skill set. We actually kind of do things by consensus. I’ve never been a big fan of ‘committees,’ but damned if it doesn’t seem to be working for the moment, mainly because we don’t seem to have any dumb asses involved.” He frowned. “I suspect that won’t last, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
“Okay. I’m in. Just let me know when,” Luke said.
“That would be now,” Hunnicutt said. He led Luke down a hallway.
The group was already gathered when they entered the small conference room. Sergeant Josh Wright and Chief Mike Butler were there as expected, along with both Levi and Anthony. The older man got a clean bill of health from the resident medic, though he was still moving a bit slowly after his beating. Despite his pain, Anthony smiled and nodded when Luke entered the room, obviously pleased to see him at the meeting. The last attendee was a bit of a surprise; Vern Gibson sat at the conference table beside Levi Jenkins.
Hunnicutt motioned Luke to an empty chair and took his own seat at the head of the table.
“Okay, folks, I know we’re all busy, so let’s get right to it. Josh, please give us a quick overview on the defensive wall and the aide station?”
Josh Wright nodded. “The perimeter wall around Fort Box is finished, at least until we decide to expand it. We have clear fields of fire between the new wall and the original razor-wire-topped fence around the original perimeter of the terminal, and protected firing positions for the M2s at regular intervals. We’re good to go there. As far as the aide station, we’ve picked out a level spot in the middle of one of the golf courses at the Pine Valley Country Club. We’ll start moving empty containers there today, and should have a basic defensive position built by sundown. I figure we’re two to three days from having the defensive outpost, storage area, and field kitchen completed. I think we can get the mess tents up the next day and be able to start feeding folks the day after that.” He paused. “Of course, we’ll try to shorten that if possible.”
There were nods around the table.
“Good work, and stay on it,” Hunnicutt said. “There are a lot of hungry people out there so this is Job One. Any intel on the bangers?”
“Just the usual,” Wright said. “Except for their ill-advised run at Levi’s place, they’re concentrating on low-hanging fruit. They’ve grabbed all available resources for themselves, and are using food and water to control the local population. They’re definitely steering clear of us, but that’s liable to change when we move out from the fort and start helping the general population.”
Hunnicutt nodded. “We’ll just have to deal with that when it happens. But speaking of threats, I’m getting a little nervous about our government friends. I’m sure you’ve all seen the choppers flying over these last few days and all know we’ve been in intermittent radio contact with FEMA. They seem very interested in our level of stores, supposedly so they can ‘supplement’ our local relief efforts. Like the rest of you, I’m skeptical.”
He nodded toward Luke. “Luke here was ‘recruited’ for the FEMA Special Reaction Force, and he’s provided the first hard intel
regarding what FEMA is actually up to. I’ve asked him to share his experiences.”
Luke acknowledged Hunnicutt’s nod and then related everything he’d observed from his short service with FEMA. By the time he’d finished, there were clenched teeth and balled fists around the table.
“In light of what we now know,” Hunnicutt said, “we have to decide how best to respond to FEMA—”
“Fuck ‘em,” Chief Mike Butler said, a sentiment met with cries of agreement.
“I’d say that’s pretty much unanimous, then,” Hunnicutt continued, “but I doubt that’s going to go down well. We have to add them to our list of potential threats, probably near the top of the list. Again, something we’ll have to address if and when the time comes.
“But moving on and on a more positive note,” Hunnicutt said, “our list of allies has grown as well. You’ve all met Vern Gibson, who has a farm upriver. At Levi and Anthony’s suggestion, I invited him here. Levi, would one of you gentlemen like to tell us what you have in mind.”
The three looked back and forth, each waiting for the other to speak. When no one did, Levi sighed and broke the silence.
“Just this, Major. There’s a lot of stuff in these containers and the grain ships, but when it’s gone, it’s gone. For a community to survive, you need farms, and farms along the river are the best bet. Vern here says he and his neighbors are already trading among themselves, but with a little more labor and fuel, they can produce much more than they need. Likewise, we probably got stuff in these containers they need, and if we can get a stable community going here, at least it will be a place to trade. However, that’s gonna take a little help from Fort Box here.”
“I’m listening.”
“The bangers and other marauder types aren’t stupid. Sooner or later they’re gonna start raiding the countryside, just like they tried to hit us yesterday,” Levi said. “Fact is, I suspect they may already be doing that along the main roads. But between the Guard and the Coasties, y’all have fast boats and generally outgun the marauder types, at least for now. We’re thinking you can maintain the safety of the river and we can distribute radios to the river farms that don’t have them, kind of like a 911 to call a quick reaction force on one of those fast boats. In time, as you recruit more people out of the refugee population, maybe we can set up manned security stations up and down the river—I’m sure the farmers will donate the land and the labor to build small stations and docks.”
There were general murmurs of agreement as Levi finished.
Hunnicutt nodded. “Sounds like a damn good idea to me. I take it from the comments everyone else likes it too?”
Everyone voiced approval and Hunnicutt nodded again. “We’ll do it, then, but I don’t know about the stations. We’re stretched on manpower at the moment, so I don’t know how long before we’ll be in a position to staff those.”
“Only need one at the moment,” Anthony offered, “at the junction of the Brunswick and the Cape Fear. That way you could bottle up any bangers coming up the Cape Fear from Wilmington, and keep the Brunswick open so we can all come and go safely to Fort Box. I’m thinkin’ two or three guys with one of them machine guns would do nicely, hidden in that nice little wooded knoll by the railroad bridge. They could see anybody comin’ round the bend from Wilmington at least three hundred yards away. Hell, we’ll even donate a pair of night-vision goggles to the effort.”
Hunnicutt smiled. “And that would also solve your immediate worries about a re-visitation from your banger friends?”
Anthony shrugged. “It’s all about back scratchin’, Major.”
Hunnicutt laughed. “That it is.” He turned to Josh Wright and Mike Butler. “How about it? Can we spare the manpower to support this?”
Both men nodded, without hesitation. “We’re stretched, but we can make it work,” Butler said, “because they’re right. Those river farms are likely to be our lifeline, at least in the long run. We need to start bringing them into the fold as soon as possible.”
Hunnicutt nodded. “Okay, folks. That’s it for this morning unless anyone has any other business. And for what it’s worth, I think we’re making real progress here. Let’s all hit the bricks and see if we can save some folks.
FEMA
Emergency Operations Center
Mount Weather
Near Bluemont, VA
Day 19, 8:00 a.m.
The Honorable J. Oliver Crawford, Secretary of the Department of Homeland Security, glared at the man standing across from his desk.
“What the hell you mean you’ve got nothing? There’s at least three people out there. Maybe four since we don’t know about this ‘loose end’ those morons reported before they screwed the pooch. They can’t have just friggin’ disappeared.”
“Agreed, sir, but I don’t know what more we can do. We’ve sealed off all roads that touch the trail within a hundred miles, and I’ve put men searching the trail on foot in both directions; fifteen miles in either direction from Bear’s Den.” The officer shook his head. “We found nothing. It’s hard to believe, but they either got past us, or they’re holing up somewhere.”
“What about the choppers?”
“We’ve had two up in rotation constantly, covering the trail from Bear’s Den south for two hundred miles, just as you ordered. Every inch of that section of the trail is being scanned at least every two hours, but the foliage is too thick to see anything this time of year, and the IR isn’t infallible either. It’s possible to screen your body heat if you know what you’re doing, especially in summer, and it picks up deer, bears, wolves too, all with body temps very close to humans—”
“GODDAMN IT! I DON’T WANT A BUNCH OF MEALYMOUTHED EXCUSES! YOU BETTER START PRODUCING RESULTS OR YOU AND THIS BUNCH OF ASS CLOWNS ARE GETTING A ONE-WAY TICKET TO ‘FUGEEVILLE, ALONG WITH YOUR FAMILIES! IS THAT CLEAR?”
“Ye-yes, sir.”
Crawford took a deep breath and tried to regain his composure. “What about dogs? Why aren’t you using them?”
“Ahh … that’s a bit of a problem. We use contract handlers and … well, let’s just say the local guy isn’t being real cooperative. These are mountain folk and they’re not real fond of the federal government, less so since the power went out. His place is pretty remote and he’s forted up. Made us state our business standing in the middle of the road, then told us to leave. When we weren’t doing it fast enough, he shot the side mirror off one of the cars.”
Crawford started staring again, visibly struggling to control his rage. “And why did you let him get away with that, may I ask?”
“The rules of engagement say to bypass resistance, and I didn’t think it was worth the distraction now that—”
“I DON’T GIVE TWO SHITS WHAT YOU THINK! YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED TO THINK, AND I’LL BE DAMNED IF I’M GOING TO STAND BY AND LET SOME TOOTHLESS HILLBILLY THUMB HIS NOSE AT THE UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT. NOW YOU TAKE WHATEVER RESOURCES YOU NEED AND GET THIS REDNECK AND HIS MUTTS WORKING THAT TRAIL! IS THAT CLEAR?”
The man nodded, fearful any other response might provoke another tirade.
“All right,” Crawford said, “now get out. And you better not screw this up!”
Bear’s Den Hostel
Appalachian Trail
Mile 999.1 Northbound
Near Bluemont, Virginia
Day 19, 8:00 a.m.
George Anderson stood in the kitchen of the hostel, gulping water in an attempt to fill an empty stomach and assuage his hunger. It had been two full days since his former FEMA colleagues descended on Bear’s Den in force. From the sounds he overheard from his dark hiding place, he figured they’d used the grounds as a staging area for searching the closest section of the trail. That activity seemed to last forever, but he steeled himself to wait and didn’t emerge from hiding, hungry and thirsty, until things had been quiet a full twenty-four hours.
He set the empty water bottle down on the counter and contemplated his next move as he heard the chopper blades thump by o
verhead and then move away to the south. The chopper was routine now, crossing over Bear’s Den at intervals varying from ninety minutes to two hours, from sunrise to sunset. The repetition told him they were doing scans, and the fact Bear’s Den seemed to now be the northern terminus of the search pattern told him his hope of Tremble becoming a decoy was a dead issue. For whatever reason, the search was to the south, and directly in his path. He’d just have to live with it.
No longer pressed for time, Anderson began a detailed search of the hostel. A kitchen drawer produced a double handful of condiment packets as well as small packets of salt and pepper and some plastic picnic cutlery. He tore open packet after packet of ketchup, mayonnaise, and mustard to suck them down greedily, then washed them down with yet another bottle of water. Enough to dull the ache in his gut for now at least, and he continued his search.
The kitchen trash yielded empty water bottles, and in a nearby storage closet he found a discarded nylon backpack with a broken strap. Another closet produced a small quilt like those used for padding furniture when moving. Frayed at the edges, it smelled of mold and mildew. Perhaps best of all, the guest laundry trash produced a discarded jug of chlorine bleach, with a bit left in the bottom—enough to purify several gallons of water. He drained the jug into one of the empty water bottles and capped it tight.
The shelves of the small hikers’ store on the main floor were empty, but he hit pay dirt in one of the cabinets—a small paperback booklet titled “The AT Guide” and bearing a publication date of several years before—probably the reason it was still there—he smiled as he flipped through it. Far back in a dust-covered cabinet he found another treasure, a full carton of a dozen protein bars. The faded ink on the carton was a testament to its age, and a gnawed corner and liberal sprinkling of mouse droppings bore evidence as to why it had been abandoned.
Anderson shook the mouse turds off and opened the box, extracting a bar and ripping the wrapper off. The bar was dry and hard, the embedded chocolate chips grayish white with age. He bit off a piece with difficulty and chewed half a dozen times before swallowing and taking another bite. It was the best thing he’d ever tasted. He finished the bar and, dry-mouthed, hauled his booty downstairs to the kitchen, where he ate two more mice-gnawed bars, washing them down with more water.
Under a Tell-Tale Sky: Disruption - Book 1 Page 40
