by Nobody, Joe
“Thank you for the advice, friend,” Bishop began, trying to establish some level of rapport with the man. “Maybe you can help me. I’m afraid I am still quite disoriented. Tell me, are we in the basement of the church?” the captive asked, still trying to orientate himself.
“No. You’re in a restaurant near the French Quarter, in a building that was originally used to store cotton. Years ago, it was purchased by a man who served all kinds of cheese and pastries. On the ground floor, the specialty was beignets and coffee. You’re in the cellar, where well-to-do folks kept their wine lockers. It flooded during Katrina, and the owners never reopened this section. There’s only one way in or out, and I’ve got a dozen men at the top of the stairs. We won’t use the darts this time, understood?”
“Yeah. I gotcha,” Bishop grumbled.
The two detainees began digging through their packs to prepare for the night. “He said this place flooded during Katrina,” Bishop whispered, glancing around at the stone walls and the low roof above. “Let’s hope there’s not a big storm on the way.”
“About eighty percent of the town flooded. You know that over half of New Orleans is below sea level?” Nick replied.
Pulling out his net to make a mattress on the floor, Bishop replied, “True, but there is a whole series of pump stations to handle flood waters from what I’ve read. Hell, at one point, they could pump over fifteen million gallons per minute, which is more than the flow of the Ohio River.”
Before Nick could respond, Bishop’s face brightened like he was having a eureka moment. “Hey, Nick? I had a thought…. On the one hand, I can understand Sister Rose’s concerns. After all, her people have to live here. But on the other hand, what if we came up with a solution that would force all of Ketchum’s henchmen out of town? Chase the rats off the ship… get rid of all of them?”
“How in the hell are you going to do that?” Nick frowned. “We could probably clean this place out with three divisions of Alliance infantry and armor, but something tells me your ex-boss in the White House isn’t going to like having our military invade his territory.”
Laughing, Bishop nodded his agreement. “He probably would use some harsh words, like ‘Act of War,’ or something similar. No, I’ve got a different idea. It’s a long shot, so I need to think it though. In fact, I believe I’ll just sleep on it.”
Chapter 13
The two hunters were already awake and packing their kit when one of Sister Rose’s men rapped loudly on the door. “My name is Charlie, and you are to come with me. I will take you to the nun,” he announced bluntly. “We must travel across the city to another safe house. She never sleeps in the same place more than two nights in a row.”
They were led up a flight of steps and down a narrow passageway. The smell of cooking food teased their nostrils just before they entered a large, smoky, open room. Along the walls were seated dozens and dozens of people, most of them eating small portions of food from a hodgepodge of plates, bowls, and cups.
In the middle, two folding tables were manned by a handful of women. Between them, a cooking fire warmed food in a large, black kettle hanging from a chain. An older man was dipping out ladles of a grey-looking soup that didn’t smell very appetizing to Bishop. No Iron Chef here , he mused.
Scanning the assembly, Bishop was reminded of the three homeless men who had attacked them. Every face was dirty, every soul looked to be wearing yard sale rags, soiled by months of living on the streets. He counted children among them; some of the huddled clusters were clearly families. It was about the sorriest looking gathering the Texan had seen in years.
“Some of our men had a good day fishing at the river yesterday,” Charlie announced. “Everyone can eat today, although it won’t be much.”
“Is that your primary food source?” Nick asked, surprised at the number of people in Sister Rose’s flock.
“One of them,” the sentry grunted. “We trap pigeons, tend a few rooftop gardens, and occasionally barter with the people out in the suburbs. We’ve scavenged every inch of the city over the years, so now we only eat what we can catch, kill, or grow. Still, if things ever get back to normal, I’ll never put another bite of catfish in my mouth again.”
The two detainees were led across the expansive dining area and then through a series of doors, hallways, and smaller structures. As their journey continued over several blocks, Bishop was amazed at the complex pathways and routes Sister Rose’s people had developed to avoid being visible from the street.
The survivors had created a network of secluded passages and channels through what had been a major urban area. When two buildings weren’t connected, a cleverly disguised bridge or walkway had been created to hide the path. One such example was a school bus that had somehow come to rest on its side in the chaos immediately following the collapse. Sister Rose’s people had pried open the front and rear doors, piled strategic mounds of old tires, broken furniture, and discarded wood at each end and fashioned a hidden bridge between an old bank branch and a neighboring gift shop.
At one point, they approached an open, dirt lot. Pointing to a pile of oddly shaped, carpet scraps, their escort said, “Put one of those shag covers over your boots. We have to trek across this lot, and we don’t want to leave any footprints. We’ve seen Blackjack’s people snooping around this area before and leaving a trail would arouse their suspicions.”
Bending to access the pile, Bishop noted that each square of carpeting had either a bungee cord or some other strap used to secure it over the wearer’s shoe. After their host had verified the two strangers’ feet were adequately covered, they jogged across the open space at a fast clip.
On the far side, after entering a gutted office complex, they approached a similar pile of squares. “You can take them off now,” Charlie advised.
“That’s a neat trick,” Nick stated, the big man’s gaze revisiting the patches of dirt they had just traversed and seeing no sign of human passage. “Where did you come up with that idea?”
“One of our men, before he perished from pneumonia, worked for the United States Border Patrol. He told us that illegals crossing from Mexico used to disguise their footprints by gluing carpeting to the bottom of their shoes.”
“Amazing,” Bishop nodded. “You folks have gone to great lengths to remain invisible. Have Ketchum’s men ever uncovered one of your hidden corridors?”
“Yes, but we’re like a prairie dog town,” their guide stated with pride. “If Blackjack’s people start digging up one of our holes, we have multiple escape routes, crisscrossing paths, and secret exits.”
There were even road signs at some of the intersections.
Pointing to a hand-painted plank of wood, Nick read, “City Pier, I-10 Overpass, Big Kitchen, Little Kitchen, Lake Quarters.” Each of the destinations had an arrow pointing out the proper direction for the confused traveler. It was a testimony to the complexity of the maze the survivors had constructed.
“We’ve burrowed so deeply into the surrounding infrastructure, it can be difficult to use above-ground landmarks. There are sections of our pathways where you don’t see the outside for blocks at a time. People started getting disoriented. Before we made the guideposts, a couple of children got lost,” the guide explained after seeing his charges studying the sign.
“I am amazed at this elaborate subterranean network that you have built. Blackjack’s organization must have hunted you to the extreme,” Nick observed.
“At first, it was every man for himself,” their guide corrected. “There were roving gangs, people who lost their minds due to the stress, and even rogue cops and firemen. The only way to survive was to hide. You were either a wolf… or a sheep, and that status could change from day to day. It was a few months before Blackjack consolidated his control.”
“How did he do that?” Bishop asked.
“From what I’ve heard and seen, he was pretty smart and seemed to have a strategy right from the outset. He negotiated more than conquered, did
more talking than fighting. He already had a command structure, and that was his key advantage. That, and the fact that he was the most ruthless wolf in the pack allowed him to eventually control the streets.”
Next, they approached a parking garage, Sister Rose’s man leading them through a series of sharp turns that passed through a canyon of abandoned vehicles. Not once did Bishop catch a glimpse of the outside world. Despite the sun rising high in the sky, there was barely enough light to keep from tripping along the narrow passageway.
After the garage, they entered an office building from a side door where two tarps had been cleverly hung and camouflaged. At the far side of the marble-floored lobby, a hole had been punched in the exterior wall, just large enough for a man to crawl through.
“I was a high school history teacher before the lights went out. I remember lecturing about the end of the Cretaceous period when the dinosaurs became extinct. No land animal larger than a rat survived what most scientists believe was an impact-winter caused by a massive asteroid. The small mammals that did make it all seemed to create underground tunnels for shelter. In a way, we’re doing the exact same thing to survive this extinction event,” the local explained.
“Rodents, living under the ground? It doesn’t have to be this way, sir,” Bishop offered. “We’re rebuilding in Texas, starting anew. We have electrical energy, organized agriculture, law and order, and even elections. We haven’t been able to restore life back to the way it was before, but the recovery is in full swing. The same could happen here.”
“I’ve heard of the Alliance,” replied their escort. “Rumors mostly. Tidbits here and there. So, you really have electricity?”
“Yes,” Nick nodded. “In some places it is still a bit spotty, but we’ve managed to get solar, wind, and even a nuclear plant back online.”
“Wow, electricity,” the man exhaled. “I sure do miss that little discovery of Benjamin Franklin’s. If the folks in Texas can get their lights turned back on, maybe a time will come when things might improve around here, too.”
“Why don’t you leave?” Bishop asked.
The former educator’s reaction was as if the stranger had asked him to eat his own child. “I could never leave New Orleans. It’s my home… my father’s home, and my grandfather’s. I don’t know any other place. We’ve always stuck it out here, hunkered down and ridden out the storm, or flood, or unrest, or whatever plagued our city. I can’t imagine moving anywhere else. I could never leave.”
That response made Bishop wonder how many sprawling metropolitan areas were in the same situation as the Big Easy. Did cities where the recovery was stalled like Little Rock and Miami have similar power struggles? Did they have populations secreted away from whatever illegitimate authority was in place?
As a member of the SAINT teams, Bishop had brought more than a few towns and small cities into the Alliance’s fold. The larger centers, like Dallas and Houston, had been the military’s responsibility. Had they uncovered similar societies like the one he was being introduced to now?
The travelers approached an elementary school, entering what had been the facility’s gymnasium. There, the duo from the Lone Star Nation observed Sister Rose sitting at a large folding table, surrounded by serious-looking men and women. “She’s having what she calls a ‘staff meeting,’” the escort explained. “They should be finished in a few minutes. Let’s have a seat.”
After they had parked their butts on the bleachers, Nick and Bishop listened intently as a middle-aged man complained about the sewage situation in his section of the city. “Without running water, or some way to flush the pipes, we’re living with a horrific stench that permeates our air, inside and out; and everyone is complaining. I’ve had two more of my strongest and most valuable men leave the Big Easy, disgusted with our lack of progress. They said their plan is to settle in an area that supposedly is recuperating from this disaster.”
“Where were they going?” another attendee queried.
“They said they were heading north to Baton Rouge or beyond,” the local representative replied. “Both of them had lost their last family members several months ago. There was really nothing to hold them here, and like the rest of us, they were sick and tired of being hungry and living in filth.”
“I’ve got the same problem,” a woman at the end of the table announced. “If this keeps up, the only residents in my community will be the elderly, infirm, single women, and children. Anyone who is strong enough to evacuate has already done so, or soon will.”
“This is a problem we all are facing,” Sister Rose advised. “And who can blame the refugees? Blackjack and his thugs get stronger while we become weaker. It is a problem worthy of being included in our prayers.”
The meeting lasted another five minutes, the final topic including a heated debate about food distribution. The disagreement would have gotten hotter if not for Sister Rose inserting herself in the middle and establishing reason.
Both Bishop and Nick had their opinions of the soft-spoken nun reaffirmed. She was an excellent leader, possessing that rare combination of a steel will while at the same time being an excellent listener. “She should have been a Green Beret,” Nick whispered, leaning close to his friend’s ear.
“I wouldn’t want to mess with her,” Bishop replied in a hushed voice. “On top of her natural leadership ability and mental strength, she’s got the Big Guy on her side as well.”
With the conference adjourned, the two visitors waited patiently while Sister Rose spoke with each delegate individually. Smiles, hugs, and handshakes abounded.
Finally, free of her responsibilities, Sister Rose approached her two guests from the west. “Good morning, gentlemen. I trust you slept well?”
“Yes, we did,” Nick replied.
“Good. Now, I’m going to have Charlie and a handful of his men escort you to the edge of the city. There, your weapons and ammunition will be returned to you. At that time, you will be free to go back to Texas, or whatever other destination you might have in mind. Of course, all of this depends on your both giving me your solemn word that you won’t return to New Orleans. Do we have a deal?”
“Before we go there, I have a question or two,” Bishop responded.
“Okay. But please, make it brief. I’m already severely behind schedule this morning, and I must get to our orphanage as soon as possible,” the nun said.
“If we offered you a solution that would drive Blackjack and all of his men from your city with minimal violence, would you consider that option?” Bishop inquired.
After blinking several times in rapid succession, Sister Rose nodded. “Yes, of course, I would. But….”
Without giving the nun time to protest or divert his line of thinking, Bishop continued, “Second question – do any of your people have experience with the pumping system here in New Orleans? The big pumps that were designed to protect the city from hurricanes and stalled tropical storms?”
Nick, just as stunned as their host, stammered, “You’re going to… you want to flood the Big Easy?”
“No,” Bishop smiled. “I just want Ketchum Jones to believe the city is flooding. If we can fool him into thinking all his warehouses and assets are going to be underwater, he’ll bug out of here like a rat fleeing a sinking ship. This insane scheme, of course, all depends on how those pumps work and what condition they’re in.”
Sister Rose was skeptical, “I have already told both of you, we can’t take a chance of kicking the hornet’s nest that is Blackjack and his men. They would slaughter us if such a plan failed.”
“Your people are already leaving,” Nick countered. “We just heard the tail end of your meeting. Conditions cannot improve unless you take some chances… gamble for a better future. The United States government isn’t going to come to your rescue. That should be obvious after the Army’s last little foray here. At least let us investigate this opportunity further. What can it hurt to explore the option?”
Charlie picked that
moment to pipe in, “They’re right, sister. We can’t go on like this much longer. We’ve been patient for years. If these two men have an idea that can make things better around here, I think we would be wise to listen.”
Bishop knew they had her a few moments later. After pacing back and forth in front of her two visitors, Sister Rose looked up and nodded. “I’ll have Charlie help you determine what information you need to know. I have one demand, however. I want your promise that you won’t commit any offensive acts against Blackjack without my approval. Do we have an agreement?”
“We will defend ourselves,” Nick responded, the big man’s scowl making it clear that this point wasn’t negotiable. “But other than that, you have our word.”
“Give them their equipment back, Charlie,” the nun instructed before turning to her guests, “Gentlemen, you have two days to conclude your analysis. I expect you to report back to me by then,” the nun replied, her tone all business.
“Yes, ma’am,” Bishop replied. “By the way, you wouldn’t have had a biological sister named Terri, would you?”
“Or Diana?” Nick grinned.
“Why no, I was an only child,” the nun replied with questioning eyes.
Hunter’s deep and rhythmic breathing told his mother that the lad was still sound asleep. Terri wasn’t surprised, Aunt Diana keeping the youth up way past his normal bedtime with her seemingly endless energy devoted to playing games and exploring with the tot.
“He’s a wonderful child,” the Alliance’s leader whispered over Terri’s shoulder. “You and Bishop are doing a great job as parents; especially given the difficult environment we find ourselves in.”
“Bishop and I both feel guilty about Hunter sometimes. His father is away a lot, and I have my projects as well,” Terri replied, following her friend back toward the large home’s main room.
Two cups of steaming tea were steeping on the coffee table, surrounded by a plush sectional that faced a wall of windows. “He’ll want to go swimming again as soon as he has breakfast,” Terri said, nodding toward the pool beyond the glass. “He thinks he is in paradise. Thanks for inviting us over while the guys are out of town.”
