by Bobby Akart
Arnold Oil was not a gas station that was ordinarily open to the public. It was a wholesale jobber, selling fuel to small gas stations in the region and to the larger ranches that could handle deliveries of a thousand gallons or more.
Before the collapse, off-road diesel fuel ranged from $2.09 a gallon if five hundred gallons was purchased, and that amount was reduced to $2.01 a gallon for a thousand gallons or more. On-road, or highway-use, diesel was a dollar more per gallon.
After the collapse, the price had increased fivefold. Major was astonished when he was told the price.
“Ten-fifty a gallon,” he started. “Is that the price for everyone or just the Armstrong family?”
The salesclerk, who had been around since the days of the feud, had immediately recognized Major when he walked through the door. He’d been arrested in a car-theft ring many years ago by Major’s Company C. Although the kid had innocently worked in the chop shop that split the vehicles into much more valuable parts, he’d still had to go through the system in order to provide testimony on behalf of the government.
“Mr. Armstrong, I promise you, this is the price now,” the young man responded. “I heard it’s gonna go up soon. You got here just in time.”
“Lucky me,” mumbled Major as he did some calculating in his head to determine the cost in gold. This was the first time he’d exchanged gold for a commodity such as diesel fuel. If the price of fuel had gone up fivefold, surely the price of gold had as well. “What’s the total for six hundred gallons?”
The clerk banged on his calculator and wrote the price on a receipt pad. “Sixty-three hundred Texas dollars. Needless to say, we don’t accept U.S. money anymore. Do you have Texas dollars?”
“No, but I brought gold and silver,” replied Major. “What’s the price in silver?”
“Well,” the clerk began to answer. He pointed to a chalkboard behind him. “Here’s this week’s exchange rate based upon the Texas Treasury advisories. The spot gold price is currently thirteen thousand three hundred twenty-four Texas dollars per ounce. Spot silver is a little more complicated to calculate. One thousand dollars’ face value is currently going for one hundred eight thousand dollars. That’s assuming, of course, that your thousand in face value was equal to seven hundred fifteen troy ounces.”
The hyperinflation was astonishing. In just a short period of time, the value of precious metals had skyrocketed. Major started scribbling some calculations on a notepad in front of him. He needed a calculator to determine how much he owed.
“Mr. Armstrong,” interrupted the young man, “I’d be glad to help you with that and give you some perspective. I saw your reaction to the price of diesel, and I’m guessin’ you were comparing that to before the attack. While diesel has gone up five times, silver and gold has risen nearly ten times in value. The fact of the matter is, in Texas anyway, there is a greater supply of diesel than there is pure silver and gold. You’re actually getting a very good deal.”
Major tilted his head slightly and glanced at Preacher, who shrugged. Major reached into his jacket and pulled out a small pouch of gold American Eagle coins and Preacher handed him a canvas bag, which pulled together with a drawstring.
“Well, I guess I am. So will you fill us up?”
“Of course,” the clerk began to reply as he punched some numbers into his calculator. “I’ll assume that you’re paying with silver ’cause we can’t make change for any gold coins.”
“Yes,” said Major, still dumbfounded by the value of his silver and gold. He couldn’t imagine what he’d purchase with a one-ounce gold bar that used to be worth twelve hundred dollars and was now valued at well north of twelve thousand.
“I’ll need sixty-one dollars and a dime, face value, please. Please make sure your coinage is pre-1965. I’ll be required to double-check while the fuel is being dispensed.”
“Okay,” said Major as he and Preacher began to count the coins. While the clerk left his post to instruct his men to fill up the tanks, Major leaned over to Preacher and whispered, “Can you believe this?”
“No, boss, but congrats on a dang fine investment,” replied Preacher. “Maybe we should do some shoppin’ before the price of gold drops back to normal.”
“Yeah, we’ll talk with Lucy about it. I’ve got a lot of things on my wish list, like more weapons, ammo, and men to protect the ranch.”
They continued to count the money, unaware they were being watched through a security camera above their heads.
Chapter 37
January 8
Midland, Texas
Duncan wheeled out of the parking lot, careful not to turn too abruptly and cause strain on the top-heavy fuel tank strapped in the pickup bed behind them. Before he could catch up to the bumper of Major’s truck, a four-door Nissan with the right front fender missing pulled out of a side street and rode close behind his bumper. Duncan didn’t like the sudden appearance of the car and sat a little taller in his seat. He had to constantly remind himself that Texas was increasingly dangerous too. The former state might be an island in a sea of darkness, but it was also isolated from the rest of the world and potentially lawless. Texans would have to step up in order to prevent falling into the type of societal collapse being exhibited beyond their borders.
Duncan followed closely behind his father, constantly checking his mirrors, watching the driver’s every move behind him. He asked Sook to also focus on the passenger seats of the small truck. If a head popped up or a rifle barrel revealed itself, Sook was told to fire her sidearm at them.
The three vehicles drove along for two more miles until the Nissan pulled off a side street where a fork in the road appeared. Duncan followed the cloud of dust, which headed on the county road parallel to them. Eventually the car, which was traveling much faster than they were, disappeared. Relieved, he decided to address the offer made by the colonel and the TX-QRF with Sook.
“Sook, my family is divided on whether I should take the job in Lubbock,” started Duncan, who thought he’d made a decision until the family had approached him afterwards. “Really, it is up to you and me to decide.”
Sook shook her head. “No, Duncan, only you can make this choice. My concerns are for your safety. This makes the decision full of emotion, not made of clear mind.”
Duncan chuckled as he thought of the number of family decisions that were made every day based upon raw emotion rather than logic. It seemed to him that no decision could be strictly logical so long as it might affect someone you care for.
He reached across the armrest to hold her hand when he heard the high-pitched whine of a dirt bike. His head looked to his rearview mirror first and then on both sides of the truck. Then he took another look to their right.
Approaching them from the south were at least five dirt bikes zipping across the flat desert ground as if they were on air. From the angle of attack, it was impossible for him to gauge the speed of the bikes, but he saw they were closing fast.
“Sook, take my rifle,” he ordered. “Do you remember how to operate it?”
“Yes, but my aim is not good yet!” she shouted in an adrenaline-fueled voice.
“Doesn’t matter,” he continued. “You just have to scare them away. But, Sook, before you shoot, make sure the barrel is outside the window. The gunfire is very loud inside the cab of the truck.”
“Okay!” Sook quickly rolled down the window and pointed the weapon toward the riders. Before she prepared to shoot, Preacher was firing upon them with his shotgun. Duncan imagined the resulting decibels in the other truck was close to concussion levels.
As they got closer, the dirt bikes scattered in different directions. The scene was all too familiar to Duncan. The approaching fast boats in the Gulf of Oman had used the same technique, only they had been trying to force a mistake on the part of the crew of the USS Jack Lucas.
The bikers shot ahead and behind their two trucks. Duncan was looking all around when Major suddenly lurched forward in a burst of speed. He wa
s gonna try to outrun the bikes.
Duncan wished they had communications gear so he could tell his father that this approach was a bad idea. They weren’t sure of the attackers’ intentions, but one thing they didn’t need was to draw them directly to the ranch. Unless they successfully killed them all, the bikers could return to Midland and bring their buddies once they feasted their eyes on Armstrong Ranch.
The better course of action was to stop and take on the attackers head-on. Duncan punched the gas and pulled alongside his father. He waved at him until Major saw him in the driver’s side mirror. Major slowed to let him pull alongside.
“Daddy, we’ve gotta turn off or we’ll lead them straight to the ranch,” shouted Duncan through the passenger window.
Major and Preacher talked back and forth just as Sook exclaimed, “They’re back!”
Suddenly, the dirt bikes were immediately behind them and were firing at the trucks. Small-caliber bullets ricocheted off the bumper and tailgate.
“Follow me, but I need to put some distance between us. Watch for a left turn ahead!” shouted Major as he sped in front of Duncan.
Duncan looked in the rearview mirror and saw the much faster dirt bikes close on them. If they were gonna turn, he’d need to give them some space to do it. He let off the gas to let Major pull ahead fifty yards.
“Sook, pull the charging handle and release the safety like I showed you.”
She quickly complied and didn’t wait for his next instruction. Hanging her left shoulder and arm out the truck’s passenger window, she methodically fired several rounds at the lead bike, whose rider immediately responded by hitting the brakes.
Duncan smiled and nodded at both Sook’s taking care of business and the rider’s obvious show of fear. They didn’t have their heart in this and certainly weren’t prepared to risk their lives during the attack.
Two of the other riders seemed unfazed, however. Shots rang out once again as the riders fired handguns in their direction. One of their rounds found a target. Barely missing the diesel fuel tank behind the seat, a single round found the glass window in the backseat of the pickup, shattering it from end to end and sending small pieces of safety glass throughout the cab. Sook shrieked, then got angry and sent six rounds in the bikers’ direction.
“Hold on!” shouted Duncan as he jammed on the brakes, sending Sook backward toward the dashboard with a thud.
His hard left to keep up with Major threw Sook around the cab some more, but she kept control of her rifle. The tail end of the truck swerved a little in the loose gravel, and the top-heavy diesel tank tested its straps, but they held.
As he accelerated toward the Knott Farmers Co-op, he realized he’d lost sight of his father and Preacher. It was impossible for them to speed that far ahead, Duncan thought to himself. The whine of the motorcycles reminded him that there was no time to think. Just do!
He sailed past the steel sheds, which were usually filled with seed and fertilizer. The dirt bikes were gaining on him.
“Should I shoot them?” asked Sook, yelling over the sound of the wind blowing through the cab.
Before Duncan could answer, Major and Preacher ran from behind a grain truck into the middle of the road behind him. Standing shoulder to shoulder, they opened fire on the approaching motorcycles. The attackers never had a chance.
Their attempts to stop their progress on the gravel road caused three of the men to lose control and slide past Duncan’s allies. Major and Preacher remained focus on the greater threat—the two men who kept their heads and control of their dirt bikes.
They ducked, attempting to make their target smaller, but they were no match for the deadly aim of the shooters they faced. Hit center mass in the chest, their bodies were elevated into the air, riddled with bullets. Blood flew in all directions as gravity brought them back to earth to a certain death, cracking their skulls if the bullets hadn’t done the job of killing them already.
In unison, Major and Preacher turned and shot the three other cyclists, who rolled to a stop on the road, pinned under their bikes, with bones and bodies disfigured. Apparently, there was no need to interrogate them as to their intentions because a few well-placed shots to their heads brought the assault to an end.
Duncan exhaled as he brushed the broken glass off the front seat and onto the floorboard of the truck. He looked over at Sook, who provided him a calm smile. She returned his rifle. Duncan carefully picked glass out of her hair and wiped a smudge of blood off her cheek where a piece had grazed her.
He could no longer act surprised and amazed at her calmness in the face of danger. He’d come to expect it and could only assume she was brought up to be prepared for situations like this one.
Major and Preacher approached the truck. Major opened the door for Sook and helped her out. She immediately gave him a hug and then leaned back to hold her hand high. Sook had learned to appreciate the meaning of a high five—a job well done.
“Nice shooting, guys,” said the seasoned operative. Duncan was patting Preacher on the back as they walked back toward the dead bodies.
“Idiots,” was the only response Major could muster. He looked around the co-op. “Seems pretty deserted.”
“Like everything else,” added Preacher. “You reckon there’s anything here we could use?”
Major looked around and started walking toward the main office. “Since we’re here, we might as well take a look. I could use some ammonium nitrate.”
Preacher started to laugh. “For fertilizer, or are you plannin’ on makin’ bombs, boss?”
“Yeah, maybe a little of both.”
The two guys walked off, and Duncan looked at the five dead bodies in the road.
“Whadya want to do with these?” he asked, pointing toward the mangled bodies.
“Leave ’em, son,” replied Major without stopping or turning around. “Buzzards gotta eat too, you know.”
Chapter 38
January 8
The Red River
North Texas
President Burnett, Vice President Gregg, and Adjutant General Deur left Austin early that morning to take a tour of the Red River, which created the border between Texas and Oklahoma, and then a short portion of Arkansas. The view from the sky was surreal.
On the Texas side of the river, patches of snow dotted the landscape, which consisted of fields full of green but dormant grasses, stands of trees, and lakes filled with water from the melting snow.
On the Oklahoma side were the tent cities filled with masses of humanity that had been accumulating there for nearly two months. As their Piasecki X-49 SpeedHawk helicopter flew overhead, they drew little attention from the weak and diseased refugees. Rarely did one of the poor souls look skyward, much less provide a wave or a gesture.
Farther away from the water’s edge where they had gathered, plumes of smoke rose into the air from the funeral pyres created for the deceased. From their altitude, it was difficult to determine if a body lying on the ground was sleeping or dead.
The inhumanity of it all tugged at the president’s heartstrings. Mile after mile, the scene was the same. From Wichita Falls to Denison to Texarkana, where they turned south toward the Gulf of Mexico. A humanitarian crisis of epic proportions was on full display.
Yet in President Burnett’s mind, it was beyond her control. Those suffering below her belonged to America and, thus, were another president’s problem. She didn’t know how she’d be judged in American history books someday, but in Texas, she firmly believed Texans would understand her motives and thought processes.
“The areas along the Red River are firmly under control,” said Deur as the trip continued. “The border situation is more complicated along Louisiana.”
“What’s the situation along Shreveport following the nuclear detonation?” asked Vice President Gregg. “Have the prevailing winds kept the radiation from encroaching onto Texas soil?”
“Yes, and based upon our team’s calculations, the nuclear fallout is no
longer an issue,” replied Deur. “With the cooperation of the Louisiana governor, we created a medical zone at our mutual border. The medical supplies obtained from the CDC stockpile in Dallas, used by our emergency medical teams, were able to treat many thousands of Shreveport area residents to protect them from the harmful effects of radiation poisoning.”
President Burnett pressed her face against the window and looked beyond Shreveport where Barksdale AFB was once located. A crater could be seen where Interstate 20 crossed the Red River into the city. A massive radiation-filled lake had been created, temporarily halting the flow of water southward. The environmental impact of the nuclear bomb striking the center of the Red River would last decades.
“The governor has expressed his thanks many times for our efforts in helping his citizens,” said the president. “Here’s some interesting news, which is strictly confidential, of course. Louisiana, upset with Washington’s lack of assistance to their state, is considering leaving the United States via their own secession movement. In fact, they’ve made overtures to me about joining us.”
“Really?” asked Gregg.
“Yes, Monty,” replied the president. “In fact, there is a movement from several other states including Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, and Florida to secede as well. They’ve contemplated forming their own country, but Louisiana has suggested they join us.”
“I don’t know how Texans would feel about that,” suggested Gregg. “Politics would play a big factor in it. You might create an us-versus-them mentality if you expanded your territory to the east.”
“Oh, trust me, I’ve considered that, Monty. However, consider this. If we controlled Louisiana, we’d control virtually all the oil refineries in North America. Plus, the mouth of the Mississippi River empties into the Gulf at New Orleans. All riverboat transportation from the American Midwest would have to cross our territory. We could command quite the transportation and energy juggernaut.”
