EMP

by Jonathan Hollerman

  “Well, that’s the million dollar question. Becky Moorehead is the City Manager and we haven’t seen any of the board members for a week or more. They’ve pretty much given up by now. Becky is more trouble than she’s worth. When she’s not crying alligator tears in her office, she can’t seem to make even the most mundane decisions on things. She lost her little boy to the flu last week and hasn’t been right since. Sheriff has had about enough of all the BS. Once the mayor’s gone, which will be soon, he’s talking about heading out to his cousin’s farm if Becky tries to run things. She’s worse than the mayor... if that’s possible.”

  “And what are you going to do?”

  “Not sure to be honest. No family to really speak of outside of my mom and dad who live down in Pittsburgh, but I ain’t heading down there. My girlfriend is leaving in the next day or two with her two brothers and heading to their grandparents’ farm up north. I’ll probably tag along with them. We ran out of food last week and we’re left living on some emergency rations the city had set aside. Becky told Boss yesterday they are almost gone now.”

  Mr. Andrews smiled, “Not everybody.” He paused for a second to let that sink in. “You hungry?”

  “Is the pope Catholic?” Branson replied with a grin.

  “Hey Mike, bring me up a box of those MREs!” Mr. Andrews hollered back to the truck. Branson was looking at him cautiously now. Mr. Andrews could see his wheels turning and knew that Branson was wondering why he was being given such an enormously scarce item. “Oh calm down, Deputy Branson,” Mr. Andrews said with a chuckle and his typical disarming smile. “I don’t want anything from you. I’m just trying to be compassionate, that’s all. At the same time, I need to be sure this stays between us. I can’t have all your friends showing up at my place looking for food.”

  “And where exactly is that?” Branson responded with a dry smile.

  “Ohhh, off in that direction there,” Mr. Andrews responded, pointing his thumb back over his shoulder. They both laughed at the obvious dodge.

  “So, what are you doing heading straight into the hornet’s nest? It doesn’t seem like you need anything from us.”

  “No, Deputy Branson, I definitely don’t need anything from you guys. I was just looking to see if I could offer my services and expertise.” Mr. Andrews put on his biggest and most sincere smile.

  “And what exactly is your expertise, Mr. Andrews, outside of being extremely well off?” Branson asked with a good-humored cynical grin.

  Mr. Andrews looked him in the eye and responded seriously, “Surviving, Deputy Branson. I’m the type of man that makes tough decisions to survive.” Deputy Branson smiled back at him with an unspoken agreement in his nod. “I have him,” Mr. Andrews thought to himself. Having the local deputy on his side in the coming months would be a huge advantage. Mike walked up with the box of MREs and set them on the ground. “Do you know Mike, Deputy Branson?”

  “Yeah, we’ve met a time or two.” Branson leaned over the hood of the car again to shake Mike’s hand. “I’ve carted off numerous troublemakers that Mike bounced out of the Hub. But I tell you what: maybe you should throw those MREs back in the truck. My replacement should have already been here by now. We wouldn’t want him asking questions, I’m sure.”

  “No, we wouldn’t,” Mr. Andrews agreed. “Mike, go ahead and take these back to the truck. I’ll be along shortly.” Mike picked up the box and nodded to Branson as he headed back to the pickup.

  “So... is that Travis Barker I see chauffeuring you around?” Deputy Branson squinted and brought his gloved hand up to shield the sun and get a better view.

  “That would be him,” Mr. Andrews replied dryly. “Charlie Hunan is in the back as well. I needed some...help in a pinch. Can’t exactly hold down the fort on my own now, could I?”

  “Well, it seems like you picked the right sort,” Branson mentioned, not really approving as he stared in Travis’s direction.

  Mr. Andrews figured he’d must have had a run-in with Travis before and tried to diffuse the situation before he lost his new recruit. “Travis isn’t all that bad, he just needs the proper... direction,” he responded carefully. “I needed the sort that would do whatever may be needed to protect my assets. They realize that I am their bread and butter and they’re pretty good in a pinch. We already had a run-in with some looters and they took care of the situation. I tried calling 911, but no one picked up,” Mr. Andrews said with a smile.

  “I would imagine they didn’t,” Branson smiled back, turning his attention away from the truck. “So what exactly is the plan here? I’m not supposed to let anyone through that doesn’t reside in Tionesta.”

  He could tell that Deputy Branson was feeling him out, so he put a smile back on his face. “Well, I was hoping to speak with whoever is in charge down there. I guess your boss would be the best bet from what you’ve said. I’ve got a lot of ideas to run by him and see if I can help get this town back under control. A lot of my ideas may sound drastic, but that’s what is needed to handle our current situation. I also have a lot of supplies and seed stored up. We need to get the people focused on saving their town—focusing on the collective instead of the individual.”

  “Good luck with that!” Branson said with a snort. “This town is full of people who are all about individual liberty and self-reliance. Not that they are doing a good job of it now, but I’m not too sure how your message of the collective will be received.”

  Mr. Andrews smiled at him, “Hearts and minds, my boy, hearts and minds! A little food in their bellies won’t hurt, either.”

  “Well, maybe I’ll stick around then and let my girl go on ahead. This could be entertaining to watch,” Branson smiled.

  “It will, Deputy Branson. I promise you that. Stick with me and you might even learn a thing or two.”

  “Whatever you say,” Branson laughed sarcastically. “I really like this boy,” Mr. Andrews thought to himself again. Just then a man on a mountain bike came peddling up the road from town. Mr. Andrews could see the puffy red cheeks underneath the man’s unshaven face as he hopped off the bike out of breath.

  “What the hell!” Branson yelled at him. “You were supposed to be here a half hour ago!”

  “Sorry, my boy is sick with that flu bug going around. My wife didn’t want me going out at all. She gave me all kinds of hell,” he said, trying to explain his tardiness.

  “I don’t care. Everyone is sick, Tony. That’s no excuse. We gave you that star because we need to be able to depend on you. That’s why you get rations issued and everyone else is starving.”

  “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” The man was obviously concerned with the thought of losing the government-supplied food. Mr. Andrews looked at the star on the man’s lapel and it looked plastic. After a closer look, he discovered it was plastic. They must have raided the toy store to add more deputies. “What a joke,” Mr. Andrews thought to himself.

  “Do you know Mr. Andrews?” Branson asked the man.

  “Only by reputation,” the man responded as he leaned over the car to shake hands.

  “Well this is him: the man, the myth, the legend,” Branson said with a smile. “Mr. Andrews, this here is our newest deputy, Deputy Tony Salino.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Tony.” Mr. Andrews used his first name to put extra weight behind the fact that he referred to Branson as Deputy Branson. Hearts and minds!

  “Tony, give me a hand moving these cars back. Mr. Andrews is coming into town to see the Boss,” Branson asked his partner for help.

  “We...we were told not to let anyone through?” Tony asked meekly. He was obviously worried about getting in trouble, and probably about losing his rations. The lack of food was a hell of a motivator to get people to follow instruction.

  “Shut up, moron. I didn’t ask your advice. Mr. Andrews has business with the Sheriff. Now get in that car and take it out of gear. Don’t forget to keep your foot off the brake this time.” Tony snapped to attention and jumped i
n the first car without another word. Branson sighed as he got in position to push the car, “See what I’m workin’ with here?”

  “Hold on a second, Deputy Branson. Save your energy. My boys are well fed and looking for something to do.” Mr. Andrews whistled back at the truck. “Mike, Charlie!” he yelled. “Hustle up!” as he waived them forward. They came forward at a jog. “Push these cars back for Deputy Branson so we can get through.” A few minutes later the pickup was idling on the other side of the cars while Mike and Charlie strained their backs pushing the road block back into place. Tony hopped out of the car when they were back in position and took his deer rifle, laying it on the hood of the car.

  “You gonna be back in twelve hours?” Tony asked Branson quietly.

  “No, I’ll be back in eleven-and-a-half hours when I’m supposed to be here,” Branson responded irritably as he walked away. “You wanna follow me?” Branson asked Mr. Andrews as he took a hold of the mountain bike that Tony had ridden up on.

  “Why don’t you toss the bike in the back and just ride with us?”

  “You got room?” Branson asked as he looked into the cab of the pickup non-enthusiastically.

  “Sure we do! You can sit in the middle next to Travis,” Mr. Andrews said with a big smile.

  “I’ll go ahead and pass on that. Thanks for the generous offer though.”

  “Oh, I’m just kidding with you. I’ll sit in the middle. Come on, throw that bike in the back and let’s go.” Branson handed the bike up to Mike and climbed into the passenger seat after Mr. Andrews and pulled the door shut. “I assume you know Deputy Branson?” Mr. Andrews asked Travis with a smirk.

  “Sure I do!” Travis responded really animated. “We go way back. How’s your day going today, Deputy?” Travis asked with a derisive grin as he extended his hand across Mr. Andrews’s chest.

  Branson looked at his outstretched hand like he was about to grab a viper’s tail. Finally he groaned and shook his hand. “Just fine Travis, how’s your day going?” he asked sarcastically back.

  “Oh, real well Deputy, real well.... Boss?” he asked the unspoken question of his employer.

  “Mush on, Travis, mush on.” Mr. Andrews turned and winked at Deputy Branson who just shook his head with a wry grin. “We’re heading in to the police station to talk with the Sheriff.”

  “Ok, boss. Just so you know, I know him real well, too,” Travis said with a big smile. Deputy Branson couldn’t hold it back any longer and laughed out loud with Mr. Andrews.

  Chapter 20

  Sean wiped the sweat off his brow with the bottom of his t-shirt. It was mid-May and he was about three feet deep in a hole. After the strong spring storm the night before, a warm front was passing through so the temperature was unseasonably warm. There had been a leak in the water line running from the retreat’s rooftop gutters to the holding tank and they were trying to find it. He handed the shovel to Caleb, who helped pull him out of the hole before hopping down to take a turn at the soggy ground. With only another foot or so to the pipe, they didn’t want to take the risk of using a digging bar. Sean looked down the hill at Peter’s farm. There were over a dozen bodies hand tilling the two acres they had fenced in. They were utilizing the section of field furthest from the main road and closest to the retreat’s location. Long rows of raised beds were taking shape in the last section of the field and almost ready to see the last round of spring planting.

  The retreat group had made a few more friends with some of their closest neighbors who were all pitching in. With the neighbors included, their group had become their own community of nearly thirty. Two more watchtowers had been built by the newest members about a thousand yards apart: one at each end of the road overlooking the four farms that were clumped together in the valley below the retreat. The towers had been built using chopped-down telephone poles and spare lumber from one of the dilapidated barns on a deserted neighbor’s farm. Special care had been taken to build them in the tree line and to camouflage them as best as possible. One of the neighbors, Butch, who had helped build the hidden watchtowers, also had a large greenhouse that had been bartered for. A greenhouse had been one of their major oversights.

  Peter had told them in late December about the importance of a greenhouse to allow a head start on the growing season. They had scouted the area at night looking for something suitable and were lucky that a neighbor just down the road had a large one behind his barn that was in excellent shape. Contact had been made and after bartering for some food, a Ruger Mini 14, and some extra ammunition with the promise of mutual use of the greenhouse, they had been allowed to relocate it. It was placed on the hill in the open ground next to the retreat to allow it the most southern sunlight. Emily had chosen the book on gardening which had a couple chapters dealing with greenhouses. Between her and Peter, they had been having huge success. The greenhouse currently held almost a thousand various vegetables of a hearty nature that were almost two-thirds through their growing cycle. They had also replanted twice that many into the field in stages. Sean had been amazed at how well plants could grow in a greenhouse during the late winter months, even though it was at a slower rate.

  Their first addition to the greenhouse had been raised wooden shelves about two feet wide around the inside perimeter so they could start seedlings for the garden. Peter had shown them how keeping a pile of manure in the corner would help raise the temperature in the greenhouse and add some moisture to the air. There was so much knowledge needed to live off the land. It had given Sean some perspective and respect for his forefathers who had perfected the simple tasks they were just now learning.

  Their new community had also experienced tragedy recently and was just getting back to normal after their shootout with a roving gang of looters a few days before. Sean had been awakened by the sound of the car horn alarm from Peter’s farm. A gang of twenty or more looters had snuck inside the perimeter of watchtowers during the early hours of the morning. Darren had been on watch at Peter’s Farm and was the first to spot some of them crawling over the white picket fence that surrounded the farm house. Darren set off the alarm immediately and together with Kathy, Peter, and his wife they had barely made it into the basement before the intruders broke through the front door. An AR500 steel target had been mounted to the inside of the basement door just below a loop hole, allowing Darren to defend the narrow stairwell leading down to the basement door. He had quite a harrowing experience and had a pretty sustained gunfight, going through two boxes of 00 buck shot before the intruders had given up trying to get down the narrow stairwell. They had found one of the looters the following morning in the back yard with a mortal shot to his femoral artery. Darren was pretty shook up over the ordeal and was really battling the idea of taking another person’s life when he had devoted his entire life to saving people.

  As the group was making their way to the farmhouse from multiple directions, a second alarm went off from the watchtower nearest Sean’s position. He made the decision to veer off on his own and see what he could do. He silently moved across the open at a half jog back towards the tree line to skirt his way over to the other watchtower. A group of six men were in the open field in a pitched battle with the two guards manning the watchtower. Sean engaged them from over a hundred yards away with an ATN PS22 night vision scope attachment he had attached to the front of his Tikka .308 deer rifle’s scope.

  Damian’s contribution of the night vision scope attachment had proven to be a game changer. The men had tried to duck down and some even lay prone, but they could never figure out exactly where the shots were coming from. A few of their rounds had been fired in his general direction, but nothing that made him too nervous. He was able to take his time and place his shots precisely. Afterwards, Sean made his way over to Peter’s farm where he had been hearing a lot of gunfire, but it was over by the time he reached the house. Andrew, Caleb, and Brody had left Sean to deal with the watchtower and had just been getting ready to make entry when the looters came out of
the farm house with arms full of food and supplies. They were cut down before making it off the front deck.

  Damian and Randy had encountered five other members of the gang making their way through the woods toward the main retreat. Again, a handheld night vision monocular used by Damian combined with Randy’s silenced M1A had easily tipped the battle in their favor. One of the other farmhouses had been attacked also, but the looters were fought off there as well. They assumed only one person got away because the following morning they found a late 60s Chevy Impala and an early 70s rusted out Ford Bronco parked about five hundred yards away, just off the road. There was also a third set of tire tracks but no vehicle. If there had been more than one escapee, then they surely would have taken their other vehicles.

  It wasn’t all good news though. Butch, the man they had bartered the greenhouse from, had been shot in the head while in the watchtower before Sean had a chance to get into position and take out the threats. His wife had been on watch with him and she was found clutching his body in the silence that only shock can produce. He was still breathing when Darren arrived at the watchtower with his medical bag. Unfortunately, Butch had sustained massive brain damage and there wasn’t much Darren could do. Butch continued breathing for almost an hour, which seemed like an eternity. It was only when he stopped breathing that his wife realized the finality of the situation. Sean could still hear her wailing in his head.

  They had buried Butch behind his house under a large oak tree and held a small service for him the following day. Sean had been to multiple funerals while growing up, and even though he and Butch hadn’t been close, this one was by far the hardest and most gut wrenching. Butch’s wife was in her mid-thirties and refused to leave their home even though it was outside of the small community’s perimeter. The women of the retreat had been taking turns visiting her the last couple days with an armed escort, taking over food and trying to sooth her. By their accounts, she was severely depressed and they all worried about her. Even though she refused to leave her home, Sean knew they would have to make her at some point in the near future. She wasn’t safe alone and they just couldn’t risk making daily trips off the reservation like that.