Burn District 1

by Jenkins, Suzanne

  “We’re in Mt. Pleasant, Michigan. Life is still normal here for the time being. We are rationing food, staying off the streets and fortifying our homes. There was a run on Home Depot before it closed for good yesterday and every last piece of wood was taken, cars driving off with merchandise strapped to the roof. We’re lucky; my boyfriend is a carpenter and has a truck and tools. He is covering the windows of our house with sheets of plywood.

  “Safe drinking water is a looming problem. Once again, we’re lucky because we have a swimming pool. When city water is no longer available, we will at least be able to flush our toilets.

  “Rumors here in Michigan are telling us to prepare individually for war against gangs. You have to be armed. I feel sorry for people who listened to all the garbage about not needing guns. What will they do when something like this happens? You have to have a gun. We’re lucky because my father-in-law and husband are hunters; we have ammo and guns.”

  The next entry was upsetting for more than the obvious reasons.

  “I’m in East Jackson, Mississippi. Our town was isolated from the rest of the country before this crap happened. Now we’re completely cut off. The school my children attended was burned while they were still inside. As soon as I heard the blast, I ran to school with my neighbors but we couldn’t get within three blocks of it, the fire was so hot. I read it was napalm. Why in the hell would a school full of children get singled out? Who were they going to hurt?

  “The hospital was spared for some reason, but it’s useless because most of the staff fled. One doctor and a few nurses and volunteers have tried to keep up with the injured, but it’s hopeless. They concentrate on treating young children, which is great I guess, unless you’re an adult.

  “In addition to mourning the loss of my children, my husband is gravely ill. There’s not much I can do for him. We went to see the doctor, but there was a long line of people waiting. We finally gave up.

  “It’s just a matter of time before our food source dries up. We still have electric because our power plant is nuclear. My well pump works and I’ve been filling every bucket and receptacle I can get my hands on with water. Winters are mild here, but I’m worried about heating our house. We use fuel oil, so once this tank is gone, I’m guessing that’s it.

  “Is this the end of the world?”

  Miranda’s anger at how a few men could destroy life and cause so much havoc grew.

  “This is Miranda Garrison,” she wrote. “The only news I’m getting from online sources is old. Please post anything you hear regarding what’s happening in Washington.

  “I’m also going to warn you to use caution when posting; don’t include your location. We’ve known trolls have used this forum for their purposes in the past. Keep yourself safe.”

  The internet disappeared just as she sent her message. It would be the last time she would be able to log on for a while.

  “We’re screwed,” Alex said, coming to her. The others were still out, milling around. It was unlike Alex to be negative.

  “And why’s that?”

  “Gas. I can’t get these pumps to work. We have two hundred more miles to go and I figure we have about a hundred fifty miles of gas.”

  “Well, let’s go as far as we can then. If we have to we’ll walk.”

  “Why are we going to Yuma again?”

  “I’ve heard that the people in Yuma are organizing in contrast to fighting each other everywhere else.” She looked at her watch and frowned. It had stopped running a few days earlier.

  “What time is it?” she asked, slipping it off her wrist and throwing it.

  “Almost three. Let’s get going.” He called for the others who obediently, if reluctantly came back to the car. To Ed, “Hopefully, we’ll find another station in the next fifty miles. If not, we’re walking to Yuma.”

  ***

  The occupants of the Chevy Suburban they’d taken from the Monroe’s were silent as Steve headed toward camp. Getting out of Yuma was uneventful, the same workers at the newly installed gate ignoring them as they left.

  The familiar landmarks appeared more tattered and forlorn on the return trip. “Am I just seeing this place for what it really is?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?” Kelly inquired.

  “It seems derelict.”

  “It’s the desert,” Kelly replied. “And it was probably in better shape before all this happened.”

  “I like it here,” Junior added.

  Steve smiled in the rearview mirror, overwhelming emotion trying to get the best of him. “And why is that, sweetheart?” Steve asked when he was able to talk without crying.

  Junior giggled. “Because I get to be with you all the time, grandpa.”

  “Me, too. If I get to spend the rest of my life with you, it will be worth it,” Steve said.

  “Who’s that?” Junior asked, pointing up ahead. A group of people walked along the side of the road. Steve slowed down to evaluate them. There were men in the front, and it looked like an older couple of women behind them.

  “Check your weapons, people.” They repeated the routine of the morning as Steve rolled down his window and brought the car to a stop.

  “Howdy,” he called. “Put your hands in the air please. We have roving bandits in these parts and we can’t be too careful.” Those who were carrying bundles put them down and raised their hands up.

  “Over your head, please,” Steve said. He got out of the car and approached the group. “No funny business now.”

  “We ran out of gas about five miles down the road,” Ed Baker said, stepping forward, introducing himself.

  “This is my mother, Grace. Senator Victor Garrison and his wife, Katherine. Alex Smith,” and then Miranda stepped out from behind Alex. “And Miranda Garrison.” Kelly almost choked.

  “Steve,” she called. “Come back here please.” He walked backwards, never taking his eyes off the group.

  “That’s Miranda Garrison!” she hissed when he was back at the car. “She’s the head of the Rumors forums.”

  Nodding his head, Steve went back to the group. “Where are you headed?”

  “Yuma,” Alex replied. “We’ve heard they’re organizing.” Steve did his characteristic chin rub, eyeing the group.

  “If you’d like, you can come back to camp with us. I can lend you a vehicle to get there. We are just returning from Yuma, and I can tell you it is a military fortification in progress. Now that’s up to you, if you want that kind of organization. We’re thinking of something different at our camp.”

  Ed and Alex conferred with Miranda for a few seconds. “We’d like to take you up on your offer of a car, sir,” Alex said. “We’ve should probably take a look at Yuma since we’ve come this far.”

  Steve opened up the back doors. “This is Kelly, and my grandson, Junior. I’m Steve.” They squeezed in the available space, women sitting on men’s laps, all curious about Junior. Kelly watched the looks and thought, even the educated can be thoughtless assholes. But Junior didn’t seem to mind and tapping Steve on the shoulder, asked how long before they were home.

  “I wish we could see Chris land the plane,” he said.

  “Chris has probably finished dinner already,” Steve said, laughing. “One of the men in camp is a pilot. We picked up his plane today.” If they stayed around, the new group would learn the backstory of the pilot, but for now, that’s all they needed to know.

  “You have a plane?” Victor Garrison asked, astonished.

  “That’s what I said,” Steve answered jovially. Looking up in the rearview, he asked, “Why? You fly?”

  “I do,” he said. “For leisure.” Steve nodded, thinking very interesting. He turned into the driveway.

  “Here we are,” Junior said. Their guests craned their necks to see as Steve drove the last miles to the camp. Soon, the tall fence came into view, surrounded by junked buses and shipping containers, giving it the appearance of a junkyard, except for a new addition; a two-seater, twin engine
prop plane just outside of the gate. Junior started clapping, yelling that Chris was safe.

  “We’ll have to enlarge our gated space and get the plane under cover,” Kelly said. The car came to a stop and doors opened as riders got out of the crammed space with sighs of relief.

  “I’ll get the gate,” Junior said running to the fence. As soon as he got there, the gate was opened by Mike followed by Laura and the others coming to greet them. The unexpected strangers were a surprise. The two groups stood apart, scrutinizing each other, until a jolt of recognition hit Laura.

  “Miranda Garrison?” She ran to her, the unusual display of familiarity startling. Laura was not usually demonstrative.

  “You saved my family’s lives,” Laura said ardently. “We’d have ignored the warnings from our neighbor and probably perished if I hadn’t read your forums.” The outpouring, not used to physically experiencing the public’s admiration of her, touched Miranda, who humbly acknowledged Laura’s gratefulness.

  “Let’s get inside,” Steve said, corralling everyone through the gate. “Can you take a breather or do you need to get on the road right away?”

  “We’re exhausted and starving. If you have any food you can share with us we’ll pay you.”

  “Food we have,” Laura said. “We’re having lasagna ready for dinner. There’s plenty for everyone.”

  “Why don’t you take a seat out here and we’ll set dinner up,” Kelly said.

  The women of the camp circled around the newcomers, offering them drinks and places to sit. Steve and the others met inside to discuss what they should do.

  “I’d like to ask them to stay,” Steve said. “No offense to the women, but the four extra men will be a huge help with the men’s work.”

  “Whatever that is,” Kelly said irritably.

  “We could always try it for a period of time,” Randy said. “If they are even interested.”

  Two long folding tables put together made a large square dining table. Carol took over serving the food and soon everyone had a plate of lasagna, salad and garlic bread, overeating and groaning with satiation. Pitchers of ice tea and lemonade were passed around.

  The conversation swirled around what they’d discovered in Yuma, leaving out the ambush, but emphasizing Junior’s inspiring Theodore Roosevelt quote that had given them a new outlook.

  “Does this mean we’re shelving the idea of leaving camp for the city?” Randy asked. “Because I am relieved, if that’s the case.”

  “If we all agree it’s safer here,” Steve said, hoping he was making the right decision. “We have everything we need. In Yuma, they’re lining up for water. Vigilante groups are forming all over the city. The Mexican government has promised to help with food when the time comes. They didn’t mention self-sustainability as we are trying to do here.” The camp dwellers took turns telling the newcomers about their plans for underground living quarters and the garden across the street.

  “Do you have internet access here?” Alex asked. “We want to broadcast Miranda’s podcast again and facilitate the forums. We can use a hot spot if you don’t have it. It’s intermittent, but we keep trying.”

  “We haven’t used our computers or our phones since we left Pennsylvania,” Mike answered. “We were warned our position could be determined by our use of the internet. Giving it up was something we agreed on when we started out.”

  “Is it something you might reconsider since it appears there is no longer any danger of that since that government doesn’t exist?” Miranda asked.

  The camp dwellers whispered, agreeing to make a decision about it privately. “Can we get back to you?” Steve asked.

  “Absolutely,” Miranda answered.

  Talking long after sunset, the droning of the voices and rise and fall of laughter lulled Ned and Junior to sleep. Danny couldn’t take his eyes off Carin as the young people of the camp talked to the newcomers.

  And although Elise tried not to let it bother her, Chris and Lexie had a lot to say to each other.

  Steve turned his rig over to the newcomers for the night; he, Kelly and Chris would bunk in the trailer with Laura’s family.

  “We’d like to extend an invitation to you to join us here,” Steve said. “We can easily move more trailers into the camp, sharing what we have with you until you’re in a position to start working.”

  “Think about it tonight and let us know in the morning,” Randy added. “If you decide to pursue going into Yuma, you can borrow a car.” The conversation shifted to the new way of life; looting.

  “We should go back to my dad’s hanger tomorrow and pick up his other plane,” Chris added. “We could find out a way to get that fuel tank back here, too.”

  “We could always steal a tanker,” Mike offered. The new people looked at him, surprised.

  “We get everything by looting burned out homes and abandoned facilities. If you’re going to make it here, you better get used to it.”

  “I got it,” Ed said chuckling. “I didn’t think you had an inventory of trailer homes waiting for us. It’s okay, we’ll adapt.”

  “If we stay,” Victor Garrison said. Finding it next to intolerable, the white trash camp and its inhabitants were distasteful enough, imagining taking orders from the man who appeared to be its ringleader worse. “Who owns this place, if I am allowed to ask?”

  The camp dwellers looked at him curiously to ascertain if he was being sarcastic. “My dad does,” Laura replied, pointing. “Steve.”

  “It looks like you’ve lived here a long time,” he said looking around, a certain twist to his mouth. Suddenly, Laura thought this guy is an asshole. He’s judging my dad!

  “My father is a retired Colonel in the Marine Corps, for your information. This was a pristine vacation retreat until we descended on it, and what you see is his attempt at making it safe for us.” Steve was quietly laughing, whispering to the others who enjoyed seeing Laura in her all out defensive mode, protecting her family.

  “Dad, lay off,” Miranda hissed grabbing him by his arm and turning to the camper. To Laura, she was apologetic. “Please forgive him, Laura. I think my father is suffering from senate withdrawal.”

  “I gotcha,” Laura answered. “You have a lot to get used to, sir.”

  The group disbanded, Steve taking the newcomers to his fifth-wheel home while the camp women gathered clothing, sweatpants and t-shirts for them to sleep in. Laura had a veritable clothing store sorted and organized in a storage container and she’d help them find clean clothing in the morning.

  Katherine Garrison sought out Laura and Carol, thanking them, asking them to forgive her husband. “He must be suffering from guilt because he ignored certain things that were happening right under his nose. I’m sure he’ll share with you when we get settled. I just hope and pray the answer is going to be that we stay here, with you. The thought of going to that city, of having to stand in line for supplies makes me sick. I’d rather steal what I need from dead people.”

  “You’ve come to the right place then my dear,” Carol said.

  Chapter 20

  An indication that something wasn’t right; the strong smell of sewage hit him in the face when he and Ralph come in through the back entrance of Winston Clarke’s palatial Washington, D.C. apartment at four in the afternoon.

  “Oh for Christ’s sake, what the hell is that?” He sniffed the air, grimacing. The maid’s room was off the back entrance. Ralph went to the door and knocked, but there was no answer. He gently tried the handle, but the door was locked.

  Ralph dug his phone out of his pocket and keyed in the number to the full-time facility manager on staff who took care of the Clarke’s four-thousand square-foot apartment, their ten-thousand square foot cabin in Telluride, and the half-finished beach house in Bell Harbor, but there was no answer. More complaining from Clarke wasn’t helping the odor, which seemed to be getting worse the further into the apartment they got.

  “I can hear a phone ringing,” Clarke said, looking aro
und.

  “Dial it again. Where’s my wife?” Clarke walked through the kitchen, calling her name. The elevator door was open, but the car wasn’t on the first floor. That wasn’t right, either.

  “Ralph,” he called. “Check this out!” Continuing to call his wife’s name, “Elaine, Elaine!” he pulled himself up the daunting staircase one-step at a time, his breathing labored by the third step. “Ralph, answer me,” he called.

  Finally reaching the second floor hallway, he stopped with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. Turning his head to look down the dark hallway toward the master suite, he saw light coming in from under his wife’s bedroom door. Moving toward it, he had an inkling of fear. Reaching behind, pulling his gun out of the holster, he held it at his side before turning the knob on Elaine’s door.

  A millisecond passed between seeing her lying across the bed and something hard coming down on his head.

  While Winston Clarke dealt with his sewage issue, Ben Adamiac learned that his wife was a witness to the murder of Maryann Caldwell. “Why were you in that neighborhood?” he asked, petrified. Standing in the cramped kitchen of their Fairfax bungalow, Ben and Beverly hadn’t seen each other since her return from Michigan.

  “I was meeting Miranda Garrison there,” Beverly answered defiantly. Bowels roaring, he grasped the counter.

  A weak but gentle man, Ben Adamiac could dish out death orders, but he’d never be able to execute a murder assignment himself. The idea terrified him that his wife could have lost her life because of something he was responsible for planning. “How do you even known about her?”

  “Give me a break, Ben! I can read! I hear rumors. I see what’s happening. It’s just a matter of time before our life is going to be turned upside down. I don’t care how much money you have. My only sorrow is for my children having to live through this.”

  “Let me think a minute, please,” he pleaded, putting his hand up for her to stop. There had to be some place he could send his family, a place where they could be safe. The word safe was swirling in his head when Beverly’s phone rang. It was Shannon, their daughter, a student at Michigan State. She was screaming so loudly, Ben could hear her voice from Beverly’s phone.