EMP Aftermath Series (Book 3): Retribution

by John Winchester

  "Thanks, but no thanks. I don't drink much these days. Need to keep my wits about me," Sheriff Sutherland said.

  "I hear you. I quit myself some time ago." Chief Howell noticed something different about his old friend. The normally stoic man looked anxious, as if something was eating at him. "Well, what can I do for you? What brings you to these parts?"

  "I need to call in a favor. Something fishy is going down. It needs to be investigated, but I can't do it myself," Jerry said, his forehead wrinkled in thought. "It's a long story."

  "I've got nowhere to be, Jerry. Shoot."

  "This all started about a year ago, or at least that is when I began to recognize the problem. I noticed that other states were pulling far ahead of West Virginia in terms of recovery. While we've done a decent job of reestablishing law and order, other things have lagged behind badly. Take trade for example. In other states, cottage industries have sprung up to replace all of the goods we used to import from China. I was in Ohio a month ago and saw for myself the difference in how people are living. In one small town I stopped in, just like Wheeler, I saw an open-air market set up by the railroad station. A train had stopped there, and people unloaded goods manufactured in other small towns. You wouldn't believe the variety of things you could buy from the traders on that train.”

  "Compare that to what you have here. No offense, but when the train comes into town, you can hardly find more than the bare necessities, and even those are priced beyond the reach of many people. At first, I thought things would balance out, it would just take time, but things haven't gotten better. There's something more going on here. It's almost as if we're being held back by design. I have a guess who’s doing it, but I can't prove it. Call it a hunch," Jerry said.

  Chief Howell sat up straight, intrigued by what he was driving at. As a fellow officer, when Jerry said he had a hunch about something, he took that seriously. After many years on the job, you developed a nose for such things and could smell a rat from a mile away. You learned to trust your instincts and follow the clues where they led. Ignoring your gut instincts was a surefire way to end up dead. "Who do you think is responsible?"

  "Victor Tweed. I'm sure you've heard of him, his name is on everybody's lips these days.

  "Tweed? What makes you think he's holding things back? Seems like an awful lot for a single man to be responsible for," Chief Howell said.

  Jerry nodded and took off his broad-brimmed Sheriff's hat, wiping the sweat from his brow before he replaced it on his head. "He's a bit more than just an ordinary man, though. Listen. This guy came out of nowhere. Three years ago, nobody had heard of him, and now he's one of the richest men in the state. I'll be blunt here. Tweed has taken advantage of the power vacuum created by the EMP. Everyone has been so focused on getting things back to the way they used to be, nobody seems to be worried about how we get there. There are no regulations and little government oversight at the state or federal level.

  “Just take a look at how he does business. He owns the Appalachian Express Railroad Company, the only railroad company left in the state. Tweed bought up every single running antique steam locomotive in West Virginia, southern Ohio, and clear up to Pittsburgh, offering sums of money that made the owners think he was nuts. I can guarantee you that they are second guessing themselves now that Tweed's got a monopoly. He's jacked up shipping rates to ten times what they used to be. And that's not all.”

  "He owns the Anchor Riverboat Company. It's the same story with the railroad companies he bought up. Tweed got his start in the riverboat business a couple of years ago. He was a ship's mate, small potatoes until the captain he worked for had a freak accident. Tweed got a loan and purchased the ship, and then grew his business from there. Now he owns nearly all of the shipping companies within two hundred miles of here. He'll gobble the rest up soon, mark my words."

  "Keep in mind, it's not the monopolies that really bother me, it is how he goes about it that strikes me as wrong. Ask yourself, why would these riverboat captains and railroad engineers that owned successful companies, living the American dream, give up their companies so easily? They were making good money. I'll tell you why, although many of them are too ashamed to admit the truth and will deny it.”

  “He uses his power and money to intimidate people. Some of the companies that didn't want to sell, found themselves forced out of the market. One old-timer I spoke to claimed he'd been beaten by some of Tweed’s thugs, but of course, it's nearly impossible to prove anything like that. Tweed is too smart to get caught doing something like that directly. Dark alley, no witnesses, you know how it goes."

  "Tweed has damn near everybody in his pocket. Bankers, police, politicians. It’s gotten so bad that Tweed's politicians are openly criticizing recovery efforts originating from outside of the state. They refuse financial assistance and aid, saying they don't want or need outside help and interference. Tweed doesn't want things to change. He's making a fortune with things just they way they are now.

  Chief Howell rubbed his chin absently, "That is disturbing news."

  "He's got to be stopped, and it has to be now. Tweed is running for Governor. We have to act now before he is elected. Once he establishes himself as a legitimate politician he can sweep all of this dirty business under the rug. Tweed is dirty. I know he’s hiding something. I just can't put my finger on what it is.

  "He's been quietly replacing people in positions of power throughout the state, supplanting them with people he has influence over. You remember Warden Dodson at the Olive State Penitentiary? He was killed last month in suspicious circumstances. I wouldn't have been surprised to hear he'd been replaced, but his death came as a shock. Why kill him? Why not just replace him? What did he know? Warden Dodson was replaced by Butch Metz—“

  "Metz? That fool? He was lining his pockets even before the EMP," Howell said.

  "You and I both know it."

  "But Dodson was no saint either. Why replace one corrupt official with another?" Chief Howell asked.

  "That's a mighty good question. One that I'd like to ask, which brings us to the heart of the issue. I've been too loud about my opposition to Tweed. I can't investigate the issue any further. I seem to hit roadblock after roadblock. Not only that, but I've been followed by Tweed's men. I caught one of them and scared him off, but I suspect there are others," Sheriff Sutherland took his hat off, fiddling with it in his hands.

  "I need someone unknown to Tweed, someone else to pick up on the investigation. You’re the only one I can trust with this," Sheriff Sutherland said.

  Howell sat back in his seat and sighed. "I can't say I disagree with your assessment. We've felt the pinch from the railroad fee hikes here too. Salt, coal, damn near everything is ten times what it cost when the Sangerstrom Rail Company ran things. I'll look into it," Howell said.

  "I appreciate it, Bud. I'm sorry to put this on you, but I don't have anybody else to turn to. I can't stress enough how urgent this is. I'm heading up to Huntington to look into an unrelated issue, and then I'm heading home. Let me know what you find out," Sheriff Sutherland said.

  "I'll leave tomorrow morning. As soon as I find anything out, I'll let you know," Howell said. If Jerry's suspicions were accurate, then there was a reason that the recovery effort was taking so long. Someone was to blame. Warden Dodson was as crooked as an old nail, but the thought that he had been murdered still left his blood running cold. Killing a warden of a state penitentiary? That was bold indeed.

  As much as he wanted to set his badge and guns down, Howell knew Jerry wouldn't ask for his help unless he was truly desperate. If Victor Tweed was behind all of this, then he would have to be careful with the investigation and do some quiet digging. A man who had no compunction about hiring killers was not someone to trifle with.

  Chief Howell waved goodbye as Jerry mounted his horse and rode off, then went inside the house to gather up the supplies he would need for the trip. He wrote a note to Dutch letting him know he would be away for a while, seal
ed it in an envelope, and addressed it to Dutch's attention. On the way out of town tomorrow, he'd stick the envelope in the door jamb of the motorcycle club. He'd ride out early tomorrow morning when it was cooler and get to the bottom of this business with Tweed.

  Chapter 2

  A bolt of lightning reached down from the dark gray storm clouds on the horizon and touched the earth. A few seconds later the rolling boom of thunder arrived. Two days of storms had left the Ohio River a chocolate brown color. Tree branches and other debris floated in the muddy water, washed into the river by the storm. The bits of flotsam and jetsam bumped against the bow of a steam-powered riverboat before continuing on downstream. The riverboat, named the Dawn 'til Dusk, faced upstream. The ship's paddlewheel churned the dirty water behind the ship, keeping a steady position in relation to the shore as the crew pulled a fishing net taut, tying it off onto the side of the ship.

  A line of floats stretched between the riverboat and a utility pole sticking up out of the water sixty yards away. Ten feet of the utility pole stood above the waterline, painted bright orange to give other ships warning of the navigational hazard. The rest of the pole was sunk deep into the riverbed, providing a stout anchoring point for the submerged gill net stretched between the riverboat and the pole. A fin surfaced above the water, vigorously splashing as a fish struggled in a vain attempt to free itself from the net. Soon the net's floats danced about, tugged by several more trapped fish.

  Watching the fish splash in the net, Captain Patty O'Donnell sighed with relief at the indication of a good haul. She opened the small windows in the ship's wheelhouse to allow the breeze to blow through the confined space. The heavy thunderstorms had prevented her from fishing, and they had a quota to fill. Captain O'Donnell grabbed a rag from her pocket and wiped the sweat from her brow. It was one of the hottest days she could ever remember, and it was only the middle of July. Thankfully the storm created a stiff wind, providing some relief from the stifling humidity and heat as she looked out of the wheelhouse windows.

  On the main deck below, the crew had finished setting the nets, and several of the men hauled buckets of water up from the river, dousing their bodies with the water to cool off. One of the younger crewmen upturned a bucket of river water over an unsuspecting crewman's head, inciting him to chase the prankster around the ship. The younger man was caught, and more roughhousing ensued.

  Captain O'Donnell shook her head and laughed, but didn't interfere. Once the nets were set and the crew had completed their other tasks, she let them do as they wished. Each and every one of the crew was on top of their game when there was work to be done and gave it their all. Fishing was physically demanding work, hauling nets in and gutting the fish at a frantic pace so that the nets could be set again as quickly as possible. It wasn't a nine to five job like the old days. The crew worked long hours, fishing until the boat's holds were full or until the sun set, whichever came first.

  Not that she'd ever had a nine to five job. Before the EMP she was a towboat captain, pushing barges up and down the Ohio River. At times it felt like she'd lived most of her life on a towboat, pushing barges up and down the river. Sixteen years piloting a boat up and down the same river was a long time any way you cut it.

  An old and familiar hollowness filled her as the twist of fate that made her captain of a towboat was brought to mind. Her husband, Big Pete, had died long ago, leaving her a single parent to three boys. Their youngest son, Garrett, was only eight years old at the time. Big Pete, the first Captain O'Donnell of the family, was an owner-operator of a towboat. His job had been their only source of income. Patty had worked on riverboats, too, as a deckhand and cook in her early twenties, but she stopped working after they were married to raise the children. Once Big Pete was gone, she took the reins and put herself into the captain’s chair. Her three boys came with her on the job, the oldest of them pitching in to help, and the two younger boys playing on the floor of the wheelhouse while she worked.

  Her sons, Pete, Tommy, and Garrett, were grown men now and faithful crew. Nearly all of the crew was family. Her brother, Don, and four nephews filled out the rest.

  It still seemed strange to her that the family made their living on a boat right out of a history book. It wasn't nostalgia that brought the boat into being. The boat was a design born of necessity.

  After the EMP, she and her family focused on survival just like everyone else. They had kept themselves fed by using home made gill nets to catch the plentiful Asian bighead carp and silver carp. The two species of fish came up the lower Ohio River after conquering the entire Mississippi river. Originally considered an invasive species, they weren't considered a nuisance any longer. The fish were plentiful and easy to catch, reproducing almost as fast as they could be caught.

  The surplus of fish led to bartering with neighboring towns for other goods. As she began to export the surplus catch, a fishing industry was born, one that fed thousands of people in surrounding areas. At some point, she realized there was an opportunity for enterprising individuals to do more than sell fish, and she could make a living shipping goods using the steam-powered riverboat. Steam power was the only power these days. Three years after the EMP, gas and diesel were still a rarity. Nearly as rare of a sight as a working electrical device. She'd heard the rumors that there was a refinery operating in Texas, but it was a strategic resource, only used to provide fuel for the U.S. military.

  Modern ships with electric ignitions and diesel engines weren't going to make a comeback anytime soon, and that was what led her to build the first steam powered paddle boat. The ship was versatile, fueled by either coal or wood, and her shallow draft allowed her to navigate where vessels with a deeper hull couldn't go. Her upper deck was equipped with davits, or small cranes, and allowed cargo to be hoisted on board. The first deck was designed to allow her to perform both operations of fishing and hauling large quantities of freight. Word about the riverboat soon got out and Patty found herself with more shipping contracts than she knew what to do with.

  A year after the EMP, they had food and a boat, but they didn't have a large-scale source of salt to cure the fish. That need was eventually filled by a salt mine in Malden, West Virginia, just off of the Ohio river. The mine shipped salt down to the port city of Huntington, West Virginia where she picked it up and carried it down the Ohio River to the family run fishery.

  For a solid year, her riverboat had free reign of the river, the only boat shipping goods and salted carp up the Ohio River. Within months, imitators sprouted up and a fleet of steam-powered boats trawled for carp and other native fish. Prices dropped and Captain O'Donnell was forced to travel further upstream to sell where the fish were more valuable.

  Shipping competition had grown fierce as well. An aggressive company out of Cincinnati, Anchor Riverboat Company, owned by a scumbag named Victor Tweed, had bought up ships left and right. Smaller riverboat captains were bought up or forced out of the market by Tweed's fleet of ships. His larger fleet undercut prices and made it unprofitable to operate at a smaller scale. Recently things had become even more cutthroat. The few holdout riverboat captains like her had begun to leave town without notice. Just a week before she spoke with a captain who had been beaten to within an inch of his life after he dared outbid a Tweed shipping contract. The authorities had done nothing about it, a sad sign of the times.

  The world was a more dangerous place now. People died or went missing much more frequently than before the EMP. Her own young niece had gone missing a few months ago. She had walked into town one evening and never came home. Her niece was a troubled young woman, but it had seemed strange that she would up and leave her family without a single word of goodbye.

  She looked down at the main deck below, pride filling her as she watched the crew work. What started as fishing for survival had become a booming business. Even her brother, Jamie, who could barely put his shoes on the correct feet, was involved. He ran the fishery where workers salted and cured the fish and supervis
ed the warehouses where shipping goods were stored.

  Her reminiscing was interrupted as another steamboat appeared from around a bend in the river. The boat changed course from her position in the middle of the river and turned directly toward the Dawn 'til Dusk. Smoke bellowed from the ship's smokestack as it cut across the river, approaching rapidly.

  Captain O'Donnell reached up and rang the bell hanging from the wheelhouse, alerting her crew.

  "Look alive! Pull that net in," she yelled. Turning the wheel, she tried to maneuver her unwieldy ship towards the utility pole to retrieve the net.

  It was too late, though. Dawn ‘til Dusk was moving against the current, and the other riverboat moved with the current, traveling downstream much faster than she could compensate for.

  The other riverboat passed directly over the gill net, and her crew tossed out ropes with hooks, which dragged the net and stretched it until it broke. The other riverboat's crew hurled insults and jeered at her as they came broadside.

  Captain O'Donnell raised her middle finger high into the air and cursed at the other ship, unsurprised to see the company name and logo printed on the side of the ship: Anchor Riverboat Company, one of Victor Tweed's ships. It was the third time this week this had happened. Tweed was attempting to intimidate her and push her out of the area. He would find out that she didn't intimidate so easily.

  "Salvage what you can, then make ready to steam home," she said to the crew.

  "Mom!" Her youngest son, Garrett, charged up the steps to the wheelhouse, his face bright red with anger. "Aren't we going to do anything?"

  She leveled her cool gray eyes on her son, and frowned with disapproval to let him know what she thought of his outburst. "And what would we do? They're long gone now. We could burn all our coal and give chase, but to what purpose? There are a dozen other Tweed boats within a hundred miles of here, all with the same intent as that one. Tweed wants us to react to his provocations."