by T I WADE
“I agree,” acknowledged Jennifer. “Just enough to stop anybody coming in from the farm’s frontal boundary. Once we clear the brush around the sides, we can protect it with night goggles and infrared warning devices. I know that the wildlife will cause some issues, but that can’t be helped. The troops will have what’s left of the wire out front by tonight and the general wants to place tripwires outside the fence to warn us of any human creepy-crawlies crawling around out there. The general thinks that an attack could happen here as soon as tomorrow night and we need to be ready for them. Tomorrow we have a platoon of Marine snipers coming in and they will be placed up and down the highway to let us know if we are going to get company. They will make sure that nobody leaves the party. I suggest that you have one of your aircraft ready. You might be the air backup, Preston, and actually get to use your machine guns. I know Martie is not dying to use them on humans, and I’m not sure, but that could happen.”
Joe radioed in that they were on their way over, and Jennifer was impressed at the loud speakers blaring out the message. The guards at the gate heard it on their radios and replied that they would look out for them. It was time to go and get the other two fuel trailers.
“I saw a couple of little Cessna 172s at the airport and thought of getting someone up there to patrol tomorrow,” said Preston, nodding up at the sky. “When some of our fly-in pilots actually return, and we are almost out of flyers right now, it could be an early warning system to get something up there to serve as a spotter plane. A Cessna 172 could stay up there for four hours at a time, and as long as the heater works, it could give some of our fancy Air Force or civilian pilots some very boring flying time.”
“Nobody thinks that anything will happen today,” replied Jennifer. “It’s only been 36 hours since New Year’s Eve, and they couldn’t have seen our transponders until we used them eight hours later. If they have troops in the United States, the general thinks that they will have to travel in from around Washington or even further north. It will take them time to decipher their information, contact their troops who will need to find transportation, and then drive down here. The highways are pretty lousy up around Washington, and must be worse further north. If they start moving today, probably later today, they would still only be here by dawn tomorrow at the earliest, and then they will still have to case the joint. That is when our troops will let us know, and of course your ‘eye in the sky’ if you get one up during daylight hours. Anyway, I’m headed off to Seymour Johnson to refuel, grab some more men, and the wire they are putting together right now, and return here. Then I think I’m going north.”
“How much fuel can the Air Force get their hands on right now?” asked Preston.
“They have set up a system hotwiring one tank of jet fuel at Seymour Johnson. It’s the smallest one of three tanks, but still holds about a million gallons. The other two are bigger. Andrews AFB has your generator up and running and has access to a fuel tank similar to one at Seymour Johnson. Hill AFB should have one selling gas soon, as well as Edwards AFB, so we have enough jet fuel to start a war, just not enough airplanes to use it all.” Jennifer paused to look at her watch and check the weather pattern above her.
“Also, before I forget, there are one or two more C-130s in service as of later today, so expect some new traffic in here. I hear we might have three old F-4s serviceable today or tomorrow as well. They were General Allen’s retirement project for the Air Force museums. He told me that he had Tom and Jerry completed, two F-4s at Hill, and a third one at Edwards, I heard. Mother Goose is a surprise—one he wouldn’t even tell me or Sally. Mother Goose should be here sometime today and his ‘surprise’ to you will hopefully be here by morning. Mother Goose is yours, on loan from the Air Force for awhile. I was told not to tell you about her, or the surprise—the even bigger surprise.”
Preston was left still puzzled as he watched Jennifer in the now empty C-130 taxi to take off for Seymour Johnson. He stood with Joe, David, and the team of Joe’s sons ready to roll back to RDU. This time they had the two armored cars, the Saracen, and the two tractors to pull the fuel trailers back. Both he and Martie, who was taking little Beth with her, would fly two more Cessnas back.
They left the front gate, which was now looking very secure, and Preston was surprised to see his truck at the end of his driveway with a large new green wooden sign on two legs being lifted out of it. They stopped and went over to the men digging the holes in the ground for it with shovels. “Strong Air Force Base,” it read in big letters across the top with the picture of a Stealth Bomber in the middle. “Government Area ~ Do Not Enter” was written underneath in smaller letters. Preston smiled. “The general has been hard at work,” he said to the crew.
They drove down US 64 towards the city and the airport. Carlos’ three Colombian bodyguards accompanied them this time, as well as the sergeant and four men in the Saracen. They all added fire power and wanted to see the country and the effects of this disaster on the surrounding area. The ‘newbies’ hadn’t seen much except a street or two in New York, or flying over in aircraft from Seymour Johnson. Preston rode in the Saracen with Martie and little Beth, who would not leave Martie’s side. Little Beth had slept well, was full of food, and seemed to have recovered a little from the shock of her harrowing ordeal.
The road was as quiet as the last time. The air smelled like smoke again and he could see the rising of smoke here and there through the trees in the more densely populated areas to the east of them— fires that had not been there yesterday. This time, they turned right down state road 751—a rural road that would take them to the entrance of the nuclear power station in New Hill.
Three miles later, they turned into the main drive to the power plant. The gates were locked and there was no movement. The main buildings were off the road by 100 yards or so, and the armored car easily tore down the gates so they could drive through. The first building was nothing more than offices and a welcome center, and they continued past it for another mile. This time, they came to a second gate—the same kind as the first—and it was locked, with no guards at the small guard house. This time there was a bell to be pressed and several seconds later a guard came running down the road.
“Are you the Army?” he asked. “We are not allowed to let anybody through unless you are the government. There are two gun positions in the woods and they are armed.”
“We are on orders from the President of the United States,” Preston answered, getting out of the Saracen’s side door. “Washington wants to know the condition of all the nuclear reactors immediately and whether they are a severe danger to the country. There are no communications and these troops here are Air Force personnel out of Seymour Johnson. The Air Force is willing to place troops here for protection against any future terrorist threats, but first they want to check to see if the reactor is safe.” The guard ran back the way he had come, presumably to report back, and the gate opened several minutes later to allow them through.
Preston went into the main office and control center with the sergeant and two men. The two men were armed, and there was a group of very anxious-looking people waiting for them. Several still wore white coats, and there were three guards around the main door.
For an hour, Preston was shown around the control center. The system had gone into full safe shutdown mode an hour after midnight on New Year’s Eve, and nobody could stop it. There was nothing they could do once the shutdown control system had been automated.
“It’s a measure we knew was in place, but only for extreme emergencies where nobody was alive in this room and automated procedures were needed,” explained the engineer in control. “It went into its automated mode exactly one hour after New Year’s Eve and the system, now still several days from complete and safe shutdown, was working perfectly and out of our control. All we can do is watch and monitor,” he finished.
“What is still needed for complete shut down?” asked Preston.
“The rods are closed and d
ormant, but the reactor’s cooling will still take several days to bring temperatures down to a safe level. The electrical turbines are down, but the cooling pumps are still operating, pulling in cold water from Harris Lake. I believe that another week’s pumping will be needed until the final phase is complete,” the man in the white coat replied.
“Do you need military protection?” the sergeant asked.
“I would assume so, since we do not know what is going on out there. This installation needs constant protection and I would suggest a team of soldiers stay here until further notice. We have the gas heating system working and a small generator lighting up the control center. We have several days of gas and supplies, but naturally we would like to go home to our families at some point. We’ve all been on duty since New Year’s Eve, and don’t really know what’s happening. What is going on out there?” he asked.
Preston gave him a brief rundown of what he knew, and the Air Force sergeant told him that they would be back in 24 hours with a guard detail and supplies. They also explained that there was no way they could help get the staff home, unless one of the group had an older than 1985 vehicle. Two of the power plant’s security guards stated that they did, and Preston explained that any vehicles older than 1985 still worked and that they were priceless at the moment.
The two guards offered to get everyone home. Preston suggested that somebody who knew the workings of the power station should stay at the plant at all times until further notice. They agreed to break into shifts, and there were a couple of dozen other employees that they could go and find.
The armored car convoy left two men to add to the guard detail, and helped stand the outside gate back up as good as possible, and then returned to US 64 to drive towards the airport.
As they got closer to RDU, they saw more fires in the suburban areas. Houses were now on fire here and there. They saw the odd movement—people driving around on lawn tractors and such—and Preston thought that this might be the only form of transportation in the United States for the foreseeable future. It was slow, but you could get to the supermarket on lawn tractors and take your loot home!
Several other cars were spotted driving around Apex as the convoy drove north along 55 towards the airport. Several shops were on fire. A supermarket had dozens of people running around outside and one or two vehicles were driving around. They were looked at from all directions, but not a shot was fired.
They got to the turnoff to the main street and found that it was blocked off by a couple of armed men wearing dirty police uniforms and white armbands on their left arms. At the power station, Preston had jumped into the front cab of the front tractor with Joe and he sat with a soldier who had an M-4 carbine at the ready.
They stopped. “Who are you?” asked one of the men, feeling a little overpowered by the amount of firepower that had just driven up. He wouldn’t have had much of a chance if these were vigilantes. Preston got down from the truck’s cab and went over to talk to the policemen. They had crowd barricades up, much like those at a football stadium.
“I’m Preston Strong,” he introduced himself. “I live and own a farm in Apex out towards the lake. Are you real cops?”
“Yes,” replied the man who had asked them the first question. “There are six of us at three barricades around Apex and we are starting a neighborhood watch until the power gets turned back on again. We all live in the Apex area and are trying to stop the supermarkets from being ransacked here in town, as well as any trouble makers. We have shot three people so far, but they shot at us first. We have our shotguns from our police cruisers to keep the peace.”
“Can you show me police identification?” Preston asked.
“First, tell me who you are. Those are armored personnel carriers I’ve seen at a show. Are they U.S. military?” the man asked.
David got out of the rear armored car and came up to the roadblock. “I know this man,” he said. “I’ve met him a couple of times. He is an Apex policeman, I can verify that.”
“Yes, and I remember you—you own these babies. What I would give for one of these at the moment!”
Preston shouted to the sergeant in the Saracen to come out, which he did. The policeman was even more relieved to see real U.S. Air Force clothing, and put his shotgun down.
“Do we have an extra carbine and a few boxes of ammo for this man?” Preston asked. The two military men swopped IDs and both verified each other.
“What is your mission here?” the sergeant asked the two police officers.
“Trying to keep our town as safe as possible, Sergeant,” the first police officer answered. “We have six guys on duty at all three of the major roads onto Main Street—four hours on and eight hours off. We have 18 crewmembers left in the Apex Police and Fire Departments and all are still on duty and trying to keep the crap out of here. We reside in this area and are currently working on getting the people organized to help us with our neighborhood watch program and close every single other road into here permanently. We have several vehicles, which still seem to work and are collecting as much food from the supermarkets around here as possible. Our collection trucks have white stars painted on their side doors and are out collecting food and supplies. I don’t know how we long we are going to need to survive, but we are planning to survive this. I’m sure the electricity will come on sometime, and we currently have enough room and heat for 1,000 people.”
Three M4s were handed over from the military personnel with a 100 rounds of ammo per carbine. More was promised for the next day, once the okay was given to arm people with Air Force weapons. Preston told them to get all the new lawn tractors they could find from the local stores and find an electrician in the area to convert them into mobile generators. With 30 horsepower, a lawn tractor engine could light and heat a house. They would return tomorrow, once he had spoken to the commander of operations.
The convoy didn’t need to go through the barricade, as their destination wasn’t down that way. They continued north, and many of the cars in the middle of the road had already been pushed off the asphalt and into the grass. They went down the hill, next to one of Apex’s shopping centers, and saw people scurrying everywhere looting and carrying out handfuls of food, clothing, and blankets. Two vehicles stood in front of the main supermarket and both had white stars painted on their doors.
They continued north up 55, connected with the 540 Ring Road and got onto the beltline highway that would take them the rest of the way to the airport.
“What do we do with all these poor people?” Preston asked Joe. “Do we help them or do we let them die?”
“That sure is a hard question,” replied Joe, pulling onto 540 a couple of miles before the site of their last encounter with the guys in the green truck. Apart from the same dead cars, the road was empty except for a family pushing a shopping trolley down the side they were travelling on. The small group didn’t know what to do and just stood there as the convoy passed. “Someone would have shot them and taken their looted stuff, I suppose,” added Joe. “Hell, we can’t feed the world. There are probably tons—millions of tons, maybe—of food at the military bases, but if we tried to feed 300 million people, it would all be gone in a day or two. I think that we should all sit down with the general. It’s his food now, and we need to discuss what can be done for the civilians. Carlos and that crowd will be back tomorrow, and I’m sure they will know a lot more by then. I’ve been thinking about it, though, and even the modern farm equipment is dead now. How are they going to feed 300 million people with a bunch of old tractors?”
“Good point,” Preston replied, as they pulled off the highway and onto the feeder road to the airport.
It was then that they came across a gunfight. Just outside the airport entrance, a blue car was overturned and three men were firing from behind it in the direction off an old U-Haul truck manned by another group in the ditch on the other side of the road. There was a lot of heavy fire being exchanged by the sound of it. As the convoy came out
from under an overpass a couple of hundred feet away, both groups saw the newcomers and turned their fire on the convoy. Joe braked hard and did a quick U-turn, and the second tractor driven by one of his sons followed him. The Saracen stopped behind the first armored car and the second one came abreast of the first one. The two tractors retreated under the bridge and stopped in the shadows to watch the fight. There was no reason to get the vehicles damaged.
Preston could hear several bullets ricocheting off the armor as the two ferret .30-caliber machine guns each chose a target and emptied 10 rounds per second into each vehicle. The blue car virtually disintegrated several seconds later and then blew up. The old truck became holy as the machine gunner raked its side. The Saracen then moved in to a clear path and all three vehicles concentrated their fire on the old truck, cutting it to pieces with parts thrown everywhere.
It had taken about a minute and the guns stopped, still smoking from the heavy fire. The ferrets moved forward and there were gun shots still coming from behind the blazing car. All three guns again blew holes into anybody who moved in the vicinity.
Then everything went quiet as the ferrets moved forward to the fires on each side of the road to inspect. Nobody got out, a turret was opened and the tractors were told to come through. They passed through the scene, and Preston’s face went white when he saw nearly a dozen dead and bloody bodies by the burning truck and several more lying around the car, which was now a mass of flames. They were all young boys and there were rifles everywhere. Preston asked Joe to stop so he could get out. So did the soldiers and bodyguards in the other vehicles. Martie, Joe, and his boys stayed away.
It was carnage, with broken bodies everywhere. “I suppose that was necessary?” Preston asked around.
“I believe so,” replied David walking up to him and standing with him. “I was hoping that they wouldn’t shoot, but we would have been pretty dead by the time we opened up with our weapons if we had been in a truck or a car. They aimed straight for where we were sitting, with no warning shots at all. Plus, I reckon several of them were hit before we got here. It looked like they had been going at it for some time. “Why did you get out?”
