The World On Fire

by Boyd Craven III

  “How is it John didn’t know you?” Blake asked quietly, “You were there with him.”

  “I was sheep dipped a long time ago. I knew him, he didn’t know me.” King said in a quiet rumble.

  “What’s that?” Anna asked.

  “Erased from the records. I got to pick a new name and new record.” King told her.

  “King…” Michael said softly.

  King nodded, “Sounds a lot better than what I was born with kid.”

  “And what are you looking to do here?” Blake asked King.

  “Help,” he said, putting a large piece of ham into his mouth and chewing.

  “He can help us train,” Sandra said quietly, “We’ve got a ton of new recruits coming in this week.”

  King shook his head and swallowed, “I will train if there’s no one better, but I’d rather be in the field, doing what I do.”

  “He’s talking a lot of words again,” Rose whispered, and Anna shushed her.

  “He goes in spurts,” Sandra said smiling, “He’s not one for wasting time or energy. Now, how did you two meet up?” she asked Michael, already knowing they were from the same camp.

  “At the FEMA camp at the TCI,” Michael said. “He was there when the EMP hit, I was only there maybe… a week?” Michael asked, looking to King for confirmation.

  “You were locked up?” Sandra asked surprised, before King could respond, “For what?”

  “Misunderstanding with cops,” he said and shrugged.

  “That sucks,” Rose piped up and they all nodded.

  * * *

  King and Michael worked out with the squad for the first week. King made some training suggestions to Duncan on the side and they were implemented. They hadn’t wanted to stay a week, but Michael was insisting on going along with King. The young man had impressed him with his courage and natural ability so he agreed… but he wanted a chance for Michael to get some training time in, even if it was at the Homestead.

  “Is there any chance I can talk you out of going all lone wolf?” Blake asked the two of them.

  “No,” King replied.

  Michael shook his head. “I just want to help. King and I threw in together a while back. We’ve been doing ok for a couple months now. It won’t be horrible, and we’ll have supply drops.”

  “Who filled you in, kid?” Blake said smiling.

  “He’s almost my age,” Bobby said, walking up with Melissa on his arm.

  “Sorry,” Blake said, “Everyone just looks so young now… So there’s no talking you two out of it?”

  “No sir,” King said quietly, “But I’d appreciate it if you can find Anna a good spot where she can help out and feel useful.”

  “I was going to see if she’d train here with David and Patty. We need more comms operators, and she sounds like she’d be a natural. Then send her to say… somewhere near Saint Louis at a temporary base? I dunno, that’s more Sandra’s thing, coordinating with the government.”

  “If you two can do that, I’d appreciate it,” Michael told him.

  “You almost finish each other’s sentences,” Blake grinned.

  King and Michael both held their hands up and made the iffy gesture and laughed at Blake’s expression.

  “Fight together and kill together long enough, no words needed.” King explained.

  “Listen, I’m out of here. I’m not sure if I’ll ever see you two again. I’d like to wish you good luck, and pray for your safe return,” he said offering his hand to each of them.

  “Thanks,” Michael said for both of them.

  Blake walked away, feeling conflicted about the young man heading off. Their plan was simple and would be devastating. It was something Sandra had been trying to get implemented for a long time. Small cells operating as sappers and saboteurs behind the enemy lines. Terrorizing the terrorists and the North Korean advisors that they’d heard so little about.

  They would be out in the middle of nowhere, setting tricks and traps… being the furthest forward set of eyes anywhere. It was not something Blake would want for anybody, but this wasn’t going to be a conventional fight, or a conventional war.

  “Ready to practice some more?” King asked.

  “No,” Michael admitted, “but I need to. This is going to be… interesting.”

  “Chinese saying, “may you live in interesting times”, he said quietly.

  “Is that like a good luck, or a well wish?” Michael asked.

  King chuckled, his deep voice booming, “No son,” he said, “It’s not.”

  “Huh, oh well.”

  Together they practiced grapples and throws. For a guy the size of Michael to control somebody who was both physically stronger and bigger, King was working on teaching him some combinations of Judo and Kendo, using the other person’s mass and momentum against them. It had been a rough couple of days, ones that had left Michael sore. They had drawn a crowd today, as most of the recruits were worn out already. Most of it wasn’t their fault; lack of nutrition and nowhere to openly train had left many a body out of shape.

  Michael and King had already been in fighting shape, and now Michael was trying to learn enough hand to hand to not be a liability to King.

  “Want to shoot?” King asked.

  “I wouldn’t mind learning some different guns,” Michael admitted, “But for what we’re doing, I think these are going to be enough.” He patted the Colts.

  He’d held onto his Grandfather’s carbine, but had left it in the APC. He’d use that for heavier work, and instead he’d been gifted with an M4 from the growing Armory that Duncan and Bobby were working on.

  “Good, need to do it and get out of here soon,” King rumbled.

  “Why, you got an itch to fight?” Michael grinned.

  “In case you missed it, something’s in the water,” King grinned, something that didn’t happen often and was now the second time in the conversation he’d shown amusement.

  “What do you mean?” Michael asked.

  “Everyone is hooking up here. So many single ladies. Three weddings planned this week. All the wives are heavy with child. If we don’t leave now, we’ll meet somebody, fall in love, get married, and plant petunias instead of fighting.”

  “Dude….” Michael said shaking his head and laughing at that mental picture, “No way. Besides, you’re too old, I mean… I …”

  “Kid,” King said pointing a beefy finger at him, “I thought you were done with PT.”

  Michael got a serious look on his face and then busted up laughing. In fact, there had been many invitations to dinner, and he understood what the big man was talking about.

  “I am. I get it, and I was kidding, it just came out wrong.”

  “Let’s go eat,” he said, closing the subject. “I’m hungry.”

  4

  Spafford Texas – Joe

  The radio crackled at his hip. “Hey Joe, you coming into Brackettville anytime soon?”

  Joe stood and stretched, his joints popping. He was in fact Jose Greene, but Joe to his friends. He’d been born to a Hispanic mother and a father who was half Indian and half gringo. It had given him a unique perspective during his long life, one that was made interesting in his youth because of his mixture of heritage. Now, almost sixty seven, most people didn’t care about things like they did decades ago when the marches for Civil Rights had swept the nation.

  In the house he was born in, nobody cared much for who was what color, but suddenly it mattered, and when he’d been bussed into Brackettville for school, it mattered. Not so much the black versus white, but white versus Hispanic. Mostly though, it was a minor thing compared to other parts of the country. Only college took him away for a few years. He was going to be an accountant, somebody who could handle money and numbers. A noble profession he thought. His parents were devastated, wanting him to continue on with the farm they had built from literally nothing.

  “I might, I have some animals to bring for trade.” Joe said, smiling.

 
“Good, do you have enough for me to send a truck over?”

  “You have gas?” Joe asked, surprised.

  He had gas, and a working vehicle, but he kept it hidden and stashed in the small barn he had. If his friend had some to burn on this trip, he may have some sort of deal in mind. Since an EMP took out the power grid, things had gotten primitive and reports on the old HAM radios were conflicting at best, outright misinformation at worst.

  “Yeah, I do. Do you think I could, uh… barter or trade for six or seven momma goats?”

  “Those are my milkers,” Joe told him.

  “Can’t be all of them. I’m trying to start something out this way. Oh yeah, over.”

  Joe smiled. Randy always forgot that, but other than the movement of people from Mexico north, it was quiet here. Hell, it’d been quiet in Spafford almost his entire life. There were less than 30 people alive in the town now and even before the EMP, there had only been about 80 people. The elderly and those dependent on medications were the first ones to die off, and these days hunger was setting in. The remaining people now relied on him and his goats for at least some nourishment beyond what they could grow or hunt.

  “What are you thinking for trade?”

  “You want to do this over the air?” Randolph asked.

  “I don’t want to burn gas I don’t have, nor should you. Give me an idea here.”

  “Well, I could send a couple guys out there to work with you for a bit. You’d have to feed them, and I’d send provisions and the other trade goods you and I discussed in person the last time we were face to face.”

  Joe’s feet clicked together as he repositioned himself and looked at the radio like it was a magical instrument. In a way it was; it was one of the only things working in town besides his solar water pumps and his 1976 police cruiser. He had a little harbor freight backpack solar setup he’d gotten for one of his grandkids’ birthday. The EMP had prevented him from traveling or mailing it out, so he’d kept it for now to charge the batteries on his old police issue radio.

  See, accounting was fun, but he needed more classes and the Sheriff’s department had been hiring on deputies in Brackettville at a time he needed money… and it’d become a career, not a stopgap. He was now a retired Sheriff, but folks called him Chief all the time. Buying the old equipment for himself when the department upgraded had seemed like a frugal investment. One that had suddenly paid off big time.

  “You were able to get the items I asked about?” Joe asked.

  “Yes?” Randolph said, seemingly confused.

  “And the ammunition for it?”

  “Dammit Joe…”

  “I dunno, six of my milkers—“

  “You can’t possibly drink that much milk! Besides, we want to breed them and start our own herd of them out here.”

  “Why not just go lasso you some of them beefalo things that are probably going wild now that there’s no fences to hold them back?”

  “I’m no cowboy, and neither are you. Besides, I need to stay closer to the city and I sold my stock. Things have been getting hairy out here.”

  “Tell you what, you bring that special thing we talked about it, with all of the toys that come with it, and I’ll give you six does, a nice mature buck and two babies from other mothers. I’ll take three guys work for a week and that sound fair?”

  “You’re serious? Three guys?”

  Joe felt bad, he knew he was pushing the limits of friendship here, but Randy was city council in Brackettville and much better off than they were. That’s why it puzzled him on why he’d wanted the animals so badly.

  “Sure, three guys. Ones who can swing a hammer and help an old guy clean up some around the farm.”

  “If you’re throwing in two young ones and a buck to boot, I think I’m getting the better part of a deal.”

  That gave him pause. Maybe he should push for more, but he looked at the inside of his cramped house.

  “Naw, I just got room for three guys. How about you send me a bag of rice or something to even it out if it hurts your sense of fairness,” Joe said, smiling at his joke.

  Now he was playing with him, and he didn’t tell him he was planning on sending Bucky, the goat from hell, father of half of the small herd of goats running around. He’d almost pay to have that goat gone.

  “Ok, that sounds fair. Besides, these guys working for you will be doing some learning about taking care of these animals so don’t feel bad. It’s going to work for all of us. I’ll have them bring the goats back when the time’s up,” Randy said, the radio crackling.

  “Sounds like my batteries are about dead, Randy. Tomorrow sound good?”

  “Sounds good to me. Over and out,” Joe said, killing his radio.

  Joe opened the battery compartment open and pulled the small battery bank out and started walking towards his barn where he had the small panel hidden. He got it out and laid things out to recharge the batteries in the cool shade. Since the power had gone out, Joe had taken to sleeping in the barn more than in his cinder block house. The barn was drafty, but in South Texas, it got hot in the summer time and in a world without air conditioning, a hammock in the barn was a good compromise for his weary bones.

  * * *

  Joe slept hard, and when he woke, he wiped his face down and swung his legs off the hammock and grabbed his boots, shaking them first to make sure nothing had climbed in. He used to put the big Ziploc bags over the leg holes and use a rubber band to make sure no creepy crawlies got in there, but he found out it never let his boots dry out enough, or air out. Shaking and banging them together worked to get the blood flowing anyways. Stretching, he put his boots on and left the barn to run the old hand pump and check on his herd.

  It was twilight, his favorite time of the day. Joe had gotten used to a 3rd shift existence on the police force. Out here, it was the quietest shift available, and it was always a lot cooler out of the sun. When the AC was no more, he’d started his old habit back up with more than a little ease. It made things harder when tending to his forty odd goats and assorted babies, but with the scorching summer temps, many of them hung out in the shade, venturing out in the dark hours as well.

  “C’mere ya little punk,” Joe said to an angry looking goat.

  Bucky looked at Joe sullenly from behind the now useless hot wire and top strand of barbed wire. Joe knew he could get out of his own run, but hadn’t for some reason. Maybe he was getting too old to get up to his usual shenanigans, Joe wondered then shook his head. Instead he took his pail to the hand pump and filled the bucket and walked it over to Bucky’s pen.

  “Here’s a drink for ya, ya big baby,” he said, rubbing the animal’s head as he finally came closer to the topped off water trough.

  “Yer going on now. Hope ya don’t mind, but you’re going to have a ton of fun annoying the hell out of my buddy Randy,” he smiled and walked back to the hand pump and set up the downspout he’d pulled off an old tumble down shack for this purpose.

  Once the power had gone out, he still had the hand pump that had been there since he was a kid and he’d rigged the solar pumps for the wells on the property, but by the barn, he pumped by hand. The long downspouts leaked a little bit when he had all the sections put together, but it was a better workaround than filling five or six buckets a few times a day. Joe pumped and the water started rushing down towards the paddock the does were in, separate from Bucky. Their trough was four to five times as big, but if he did this a couple of times a day, it wasn’t hard to keep his small herd happy.

  Smiling to himself, contemplating the repetitive life he’d had in the past two months, he was suddenly surprised to see a flash of light wink on in the distance through the scrub, and then wink out again. A cold shiver of fear worked its way through his body and he walked towards his house, pulling the keys out of his pocket. A few seconds later, he was walking into the explosive heat of the cinder block house and into his old bedroom. The smell almost always surprised him. The smell of humanity, of dirty clo
thes left to bake in the relentless heat. Quickly, Joe grabbed the gun from under his bed and pulled his pistol out and put it in a holster before putting that on as well.

  “Hey, look at this!” Joe heard yelled from outside. Quietly, he worked his way out towards the darkened doorway and looked out.

  A flashlight was playing its light across the paddock of goats and voices floated out of the darkness until he could see three shapes join whomever had the flashlight. Joe was careful not to look into the light too much and slipped out of the house and walked to his left without turning his body, keeping everything in sight. Bucky let out an alarmed bleat before a laugh came out of the dark. One of the figures tried climbing the wire fence but tripped, snagging in the top wire.

  The curses weren’t in English or Spanish. They were in an accent that Joe had only heard once before, at a conference in San Antonio. It’d be horrible of him to make an assumption, but this time of night, he was expecting to hear Spanish from ‘Coyotes’ bringing people over… or home now that America had nothing left to offer. Arabic was the last thing he expected to hear.

  Slinking through the shadows, Joe stepped into the darkened doorway of the barn, now directly across from the four or five men. He couldn’t tell in the dark for sure, but when the man who fell on the fence started talking and gesturing loudly, and another pulled off a backpack and dug through it before handing something to him. The flashlight played over his hands and the fence for a moment, long enough for Joe to see the small bolt cutters part his barbed wire.

  With only a flash to think, he considered just shooting the men, or at least one to make a point, but he didn’t know how many of them were armed and how many were in the scrub across the street. Obviously they wanted the goat and weren’t too concerned being quiet. If he shouted out a call or warning, he might make himself a target, but doing nothing was just getting him a cut fence and a stolen goat that was already promised out.