Fire From the Sky: The Sanders Saga

by N. C. Reed

  “Well, I'm in,” Leon said at once, rising slowly but steadily to his feet.

  “What?” Clay looked shocked.

  “Hell, boy, I got money,” Leon told him, cackling. “I am not the most honest man ever to live, I admit. Mind you some of that money was earned by honest hard work,” he winked. Clay looked shocked for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed.

  “I assume you got all this at your place, laid out like?” Leon asked. Clay nodded.

  “Well, use that contraption and drive me up there so I can see it,” Leon ordered, pointing to the side-by-side ATV sitting nearby. “It's too far to walk, seeing as how you decided you wanted to build your cabin in the next county over. Though after what you've told me, I understand that much better.”

  “I thought, considering, maybe it was best,” Clay shrugged. Leon didn't let it show but was pleased with himself. Clay looked relieved, almost at peace, which was remarkable considering the story he'd just told. It was as if having someone to finally share with was enough to lighten the burden he'd carried for such a long time.

  Pleased though he was, he still grumbled and complained about the 'newfangled contraption' he crawled into to head for his grandson's home.

  It just wouldn't do to have anyone thinking he was going soft in his old age.

  -

  “We'll need organization if this happens, boy,” Leon said. “Ain't no way around it. How you figure to keep this place in our hands?”

  “I should have that covered,” Clay said cryptically. “Have to wait and see. But we need to be training everyone in this family to protect themselves right now,” he added.

  “That will go over about like a fart in a fruit jar,” Leon snorted.

  “Still has to be done,” Clay just shrugged. “And being mad is a lot better than being dead,” he added.

  “No argument from me on that,” Leon nodded. “How much have you done?”

  “I've done a lot,” Clay admitted. “Most of it isn't here at the moment, but it's close enough I can reach out and get it without any trouble.”

  “Really,” Leon mused. He studied Clay for about fifteen seconds before a smile split his face.

  “You bought Harold's place with some of that gold, didn't you boy?”

  “Yes sir,” Clay nodded. “Leased the land to us for a tax write-off in the name of a dummy corporation that exists only on computer in one of those off-shore accounts. If this don't happen, I'll probably go to prison,” he snorted.

  “Not around here,” Leon shook his head. “Don't worry about that. So you're using Harold's old place to store what you're stockpiling?”

  “Some of it,” Clay replied. “The more sensitive stuff I'm storing here.”

  “Sensitive?” Leon frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Well, you're sitting over about fifty pounds of stolen plastic explosive at the moment,” his grandson grinned. Leon made a credible imitation of a man leaping out of a chair and standing.

  “It's in the basement, Pa,” Clay chuckled in amusement, only to feel Leon's staff whack him in the back of the head.

  “I ain't got so many years left that I can spare any of 'em to having you scare 'em away, you idiot!” Leon snarled.

  “It won't go off without the right punch,” Clay promised as he rubbed his head. “You can burn the stuff and it not explode.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. It's stable. Perfect for all our needs.”

  “Where are you getting this stuff?” Leon demanded.

  “I smuggled most of it into the country by bribing an Air Force pilot to deliver it to a civilian airfield, where it was put into storage. Then I paid to have it shipped to the Troy place by people I can trust.” Clay was completely open about what he had done. Leon was about the only member of his family he would have been that way with about something such as this, but then he figured Leon wasn't all that squeaky clean himself.

  “Not bad,” Leon nodded. “You're pretty smart, boy. I like that.” He sat back down with a great show of being careful. “Are you still spending gold?”

  “I'm selling it and spending the cash,” Clay nodded. “I'm taking a hit on the price selling it under the table, but then I don't have anything in it so to speak,” he shrugged.

  “Stop doing that,” Leon ordered. “I've got access to plenty of cash and if what you think is going to happen does happen, it won't be worth more than toilet paper once it does. Right?”

  “Well, probably,” Clay nodded, wondering how much money Leon could possibly have. “But we're talking about a lot of-”

  “Lot of money, yeah I got that,” Leon held up a hand. “What are you doing next?”

  “I've ordered a trailer load of long term storage foods from a place in Nashville. I'm headed up there tomorrow, probably stay overnight. I'll have to see a coin dealer and make a sale, then pay and load up. Should be back by supper the day after,” Clay explained.

  “How much is that settin' you back?” Leon wanted to know.

  “A lot,” Clay told him. “I've got two years worth of food for every person in this family. Dehydrated with a thirty year shelf life. Add water and heat.”

  “How much?” Leon asked again.

  “Almost a quarter of a million,” Clay sighed. “Two hundred thirty, give or take. That's with a steep discount, too,” he added. “Technically it's enough for fifteen people instead of twelve. I'm hedging my bets.”

  “What the hell is this stuff?” Leon goggled.

  “I told you it's dehydrated food suitable for long term storage. Basically you stick it down here and forget it. Doesn't matter how long it might be, if we need it, we have it. I figure we won't be able to plant for at least a year, and I don't expect the stock to make it other than what we can try and protect with barns, and that ain't much. And we need to protect the horses, too.” He sighed.

  “You been trying to do all this yourself for all of us, ain't you?” Leon's voice was uncharacteristically gentle.

  “Yes sir,” Clay nodded. “That's why it pissed me off so much when that fucktard at the diner attacked me,” he snarled suddenly. “I was trying to get in here, quiet like, and get things set up for. . .well. And that pretty well blew that whole thing up I thought. I came out okay for the moment, but it 'll come back on me somehow.”

  “From that bunch, maybe, but not from Pepper,” Leon assured him.

  “How do you know?” Clay asked.

  “Who do you think runs things around here, boy?” Leon smirked openly now. “You think I'd leave running this county to an idiot like Bell Pepper? Or the rest for that matter. That bunch of little ghetto bangers have been poking into things around here for a while and I've been ignoring 'em so far, since drawing attention to them could draw attention to me. You did me a favor and didn't even know it,” he chuckled.

  “I don't get it,” Clay admitted. “I mean, I get some of it,” he added. “But what. . .I mean how are you making any money at this?”

  “I got ways, boy,” Leon promised him. “Ain't none of 'em too bad,” he promised. “Just providing folks with what they want and need, that's all.”

  “Drugs?” Clay couldn't believe it.

  “No, hell no,” Leon snorted in anger. “I told you it wasn't that bad. Love of Jesus boy, I ain't a complete heathen you know!”

  “Just asking,” Clay raised a hand in defense. “And I ain't one to judge, that's for sure,” he added.

  “I don't care 'bout that either,” Leon waved it away. “I'm glad to know you bought Harold's old place though,” he grinned and it wasn't the normal snarky grin either, but a sincere smile. “I wanted to, but. . .have a hell of a time explaining where I got the money, wouldn't I?” he chuckled.

  “Been having that problem myself,” Clay agreed. “I could probably have sold it all and brought it back in paper, but when stuff like…like that, happens, apparently metals will probably be the preferred method of doing business. So, I decided to sell what I had to and hang on to
the rest.”

  “Good plan,” Leon nodded. “And a good reason to let me use the money I got piled up while it's worth something,” he got to his feet again. “Take me home.” He ordered. Clay followed him out to the side-by-side and was soon driving his grandfather home.

  “Come inside,” Leon ordered as they arrived. Clay followed him into the house.

  “You imagine trying to find a hiding place in a house like this with a wife and three kids?” he asked, chuckling. “Damn hard thing to do. Thing is, having to think about all that made it impossible for anyone else to find anything.”

  “So...this isn't a new thing you're doing as a hobby, then,” Clay jibed.

  “How do you think I paid for this farm?” Leon asked. “Half-fed kids, starving animals, dirt that wouldn't grow weeds,” he muttered. “Honest folk being foreclosed on by bankers that was eating high on the hog ever night whilst people they knowed all their sorry lives was going to bed hungry. No, it ain't no new thing,” he almost growled. “I fed your daddy and his brothers, took care of your grandmother, may God rest her sainted soul,” he looked to heaven as he always did when he mentioned her, “and paid for the heart of this place, and I did it any way I could, ever how I could. And I don't make no apologies for it neither,” he added.

  “Don't see that you need any,” Clay shrugged “Man does what he has to, Pa. That's what you did. It's what I did. And I imagine I done a sight worse things that you have, Old Man,” he added bitterly.

  “Don't bet your last gold coin on that, boy,” Leon snorted as he led his grandson into the small bedroom where his children had slept growing up. Over the years this house had been remodeled to provide electricity and plumbing, but this room was part of the original home. Going to the closet, Leon opened the door.

  “See that board?” he pointed to a board in the floor with a hole in it.

  “Yeah,” Clay almost laughed. Had the Old Man really kept his money in a hole in the floor and thought that was safe?

  “Pull it up,” he ordered. Clay did so.

  “See that slot over there?” Leon pointed to a spot along the far wall. “Slide that board in there with the hole down and to the right.

  Clay took the board and followed the instructions. As he carefully slid the board horizontally into the slot, he heard what sounded like spring throwing, then another. As he finally got the board seated, another board popped out just at eye level.

  “Reach in there, up, and there's a lever,” Leon ordered. “Bout to get where I can't pull it so I'd have had to tell somebody sooner or later.”

  Looking at Leon, Clay did as he was told. As he pulled the lever he heard the sound of a lock disengaging and the entire wall swung out in his grip just like a door.

  “Son-of-a-bitch,” he muttered admiringly. “That's really something Pa.”

  “Course it is,” Leon snorted as usual. “What do you see?”

  “A safe that looks like the James Gang probably tried to rob at some point,” Clay laughed.

  “Little smart ass,” Leon muttered. “Fifteen right, twenty-two left, ten right,” he ordered. Clay dutifully turned the wheel and heard the tumblers disengage. He looked back at Leon.

  “Well?” the Old Man sneered. “You gonna open it or just stand there?”

  “I was afraid it might be booby trapped,” Clay admitted.

  “I already shut that off,” Leon waved casually. “It's safe so open it. Idiot,” he just had to add. Clay sighed and twisted the handle. The door opened slowly, weight at least as much as his own.

  “How did you get this damn thing in here?” he asked.

  “I wasn't always a shriveled up old man,” Leon replied testily. “And I used to have friends, too.”

  Whatever else he said Clay missed as Leon flipped the light switch in the closet to illuminate the safe.

  “Damn,” was all Clay to think to say.

  There were stacks upon stacks of neatly bundled bills filling the safe's bottom area. Two strong looking lock boxes on the top shelf drew his eye.

  “Double Eagles,” Leon told him, seeing where his gaze went. “Twenty dollar coins. And some ten dollar coins too. About two hundred pure silver dollars.”

  “What did you do, rob a bank?” Clay laughed. When he didn't get a snarky response he turned to look at his grandfather who was staring back at him.

  “I fed more than just my own family,” he said with quiet dignity.

  “Hot damn, my Old Man is an outlaw!” Clay almost hooted, causing Leon to snort.

  “Where do you think you got the inclination, boy?”

  “Never thought about it,” Clay admitted. “Saw what needed doing, and did it.”

  “Exactly,” Leon nodded. “Them bundles is all twenty-five thousand each,” he nodded. “Start pulling. Reckon you need ten or eleven for tomorrow, and get one extra for what have you. I'll get a bag.”

  “You want me to carry a quarter million in cash to Nashville?” Clay goggled.

  “What difference is there in that and carrying that gold?” Leon threw back over his shoulder.

  “Point,” Clay admitted. He gathered the money and turned just as Leon came back with a leather bag that looked like an old doctor's bag.

  “Nice,” Clay nodded as he stacked the money inside.

  “What time we leaving in the morning?” Leon asked, and it took Clay a second to catch it.

  “Say what?”

  “What time are we leaving?” Leon repeated, slower this time, as if talking to a not overly bright child.

  “You want to go too?”

  “Been wanting to head to Nashville for a bit anyway,” Leon nodded. “Good a time as any. We'll stay a day and come back like you said. You can help me run a couple errands. And serve as my muscle,” he added with a nasty grin.

  “Okay.”

  -

  “What do the two of you need in Nashville?” Gordon all but demanded.

  “Grown up stuff,” Leon waved his comment aside. “No sense in me boring you with it. We'll be back day after tomorrow. Unless we meet any young dancing girls and then it might be a extra day or two.”

  “What are you two up to?” Gordon did demand this time.

  “Just spending some quality time with my grandson who has been away to war,” Leon said lightly.

  “And you need that trailer to do it?” Gordon asked. The trailer was already hitched to Clay's truck.

  “Might find something at the flea market,” Leon shrugged.

  “You're in a truck,” Gordon pointed out.

  “Something big,” Leon amended. “What difference does it make in the price of cotton why we're going, Gordon?” he demanded suddenly. “How is our being gone a couple days upsetting your little apple cart?”

  “I'm just curious,” Gordon sighed, raising his hands in a defensive posture.

  “We used to call that being nosy,” Leon told him. “Stop bothering us about it and we might bring you a toy of some kind. How's that?” he teased.

  “I'm sorry I asked.”

  Leon definitely had a way about him.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  -

  Carrying that much money was enough to make most people nervous and Clay was no exception. When he got into his truck that morning he was carrying two sidearms, and had both a shotgun and an AR hidden in his truck within reach.

  “You expecting an attack of some kind?” Leon asked, seeing a pistol.

  “I'm just being cautious is all,” Clay shrugged. “And I always expect an attack,” he added.

  “What have you been trying to gather up?” Leon asked once they were on the road.

  The talk turned to preparations Clay had been making until they reached the interstate, a different exit than the one where Lorrie's was thankfully, and one with a small store that also cooked breakfast food.

  “Stop here and let’s get a biscuit and some coffee,” Leon ordered.

  “I brought coffee in a th-”

  “Will you just pull over and stop s
econd guessing everything I say!” Leon snapped. “Damn youngsters think they know it all. This place has the best sausage and biscuit in fifty miles, and coffee second to none. You don't wanna eat you ain't gotta.”

  “It's gonna be a long trip if you're like this the whole way,” Clay remarked.

  “Which is why I need that coffee,” Leon nodded as if Clay had just made his point for him. The two got out and went inside, Clay very careful to lock the truck up tight. Leon was still stiff and Clay let him lead as he limped a little going inside.

  “Leon!” a gray haired matronly woman threw her arms out at the sight of him, running to hug him and kiss both his jaws.

  “Will you stop that!” Leon made motions of shooing her off him, but was grinning as he did so.

  “And who is this strapping young lad?” the woman seemed to see Clay for the first time.

  “This is my youngest grandson, Clayton,” Leon introduced. “He's my new handy man, so to speak,” he added more seriously.

  “You're the one from up Lorrie's, ain't you?” the woman sized Clay up. He nodded, not speaking.

  “Strong silent type,” the woman mused. “I like that. I like him,” she turned to Leon. “What can I do for you today, you old sweetheart?”

  “Just need some sausage and biscuits to go and a big jug o' coffee. Boy, this is Marla Jones,” he told Clay, finally. “She's run this place for-”

  “Ever,” she finished for him as she grabbed several biscuits and placed them in a bag. She then took a large traveler's cup and poured it full of coffee. Leon took the items from her as Clay tried to pay.

  “His money's no good here Cowboy,” Marla held up a hand. Cowboy was an obvious reference to Clay's hat. “Yours won't be neither. Where ya headed today?”

  “Nashville,” Leon told her. “See a man about a dog,” he added.

  “Be careful the dog don't bite,” Marla warned cryptically.

  “Got my own,” Leon nodded to Clay. “Thanks, sexy,” he kissed the woman on the jaw before heading out.

  “You need to stop flirting if you ain't gonna do anything about it!” her voice chased them out of the building. Clay was chuckling by the time he got the truck open and helped Leon inside.