by Ian Daniels
"If you have another way that isn’t threatening to burn down the clinic or the doctor's house, or kidnapping his family for a ransom of treatment, then I'm all ears,” Blake implored to us all. “We can at least go take a look. It's not like it's all that far and we have a safe and quiet way in and out. If there are some tanks, then we can grab a few and call it a night. If not, then we burn that bridge when we come to it."
"Cross that bridge," Danielle muttered a correction.
I didn't like it. Actually I wasn't sure how I felt about it and I think Clint was in the same boat as I was. Looking at him, he gave me a curt nod to break out the maps.
“Okay here’s the full tunnel network and here’s the overlay of the city,” I laid out the two sheets on the hood of the Polara for us all to see.
“Look, perfect back road access to this entrance here from the north,” Blake pointed. “What part of the campus is that?”
“The little parking garage they put in when they built the new Rec Center. I did a burnout there in a buddy’s Grand National about a week after they poured the concrete,” I laughed.
“Have you been there? I mean have you seen and used this entrance?” Clint asked me.
“Once, after they tore down the old building and when the new one was still going up. My company did some of the work in the garage. I think this is the utility room right at the driveway entrance to the garage that has the tunnel access in it,” I pointed to a spot on the old police map.
“Why would they have access to old steam tunnels in a new building?” Danielle astutely questioned.
“It’s already there, they probably just tapped into it just because, or maybe to heat the garage? Who knows, but you saw the entrance right?” Blake pushed.
“Yeah, big square door; its there,” I confirmed.
“And the tunnels are big enough to walk through?” Danielle asked.
“It’s just like a long hallway with pipes running in it. Clint, you ever been in them?” I was noticing he was awful quiet now that we were looking seriously at the prospect of using the tunnels. I wasn’t sure if he was just trying to decide if he was questioning this extra-lawful activity, or if he was maybe hiding something.
“Kids used to go in them back in the day to drink or smoke or hook up with their girlfriends,” he evaded.
“I’ll bet they did,” I smirked.
“How far is it in the tunnel from end to end?” Danielle asked.
“They maze around forever but for where we’d be going, it looks like just about a quarter mile,” I referred to the two points on the map.
“Well why not just drive right up to them?” she again asked.
“Bad location to drive to. No good back access that you could slip in and out of in a car or truck. Gates on the access road in, but this tunnel would do nicely,” I spelled it out for her.
“That’s a long way to haul a heavy load, even for you,” Clint tilted his head at me.
“Hand cart!” Blake crowed triumphantly. “I stubbed my toe on it the other night when we were here.”
“The what?” I asked him.
“Your furniture dolly. It's got big tires, not those plastic wheels, and the tunnels all have flat floors. I bet we can fit three or four propane cylinders on it, strap ‘em down and virtually run the whole way. Couldn’t be easier!” he explained.
“That could work,” I rubbed my shoulders thinking how without it, even my muscles would be at their limits trying to carry full propane tanks any sort of a distance.
“Couldn’t be easier...” Danielle huffed again softly.
“I heard rumors that all the doors to the tunnels had alarms on them, I never saw any the few times I went in though." My memory was beginning to dredge up all the little details that could be either a help or hindrance.
"Plus they'd have to be powered and there would have to be a guard or whoever to go check on any alarm,” Blake supplied.
"There's still some power in town but I doubt there are any spare guards or engineers or whoever to go look into some minor unknown alarm,” Clint said, then made a steely eye contact with me before continuing on. “Look, you and I have done a few of these before... Blake, why don’t you take Danielle and go back to the clinic to help out with your mom."
Clint and I had done a couple of sanctioned security test runs a few times over the years. It was always on the level and just to help out with training or a trial run on a new building's grounds, but it did give us an edge in experience.
"What? No way!" Blake cried out.
"Yeah, um actually this might be a little closer to some of the stupid stunts Blake and I used to pull when we were younger,” I surprised Clint with my sudden support of the unpredictable fly-by-night member of our group that I had already voiced my concerns about. "But that’s not a bad idea, why don’t you two head back to the clinic. Blake and I can handle this one and then we’ll meet you guys back there later.”
"If we're just going to check it out then why all the precautions?" Danielle suddenly stepped up. "If you two or you three for that matter are going, you can use all the help you can get."
Like I had done more than once over the past week, I looked around, surveying the faces and body language of the three people standing here with me. This time I saw a lot less of the previous fear or hesitation.
Had it really come to this? There had to be another way. The problem was that Kathy would just get worse and might not even survive while we figured out what that other way was. Time was a luxury that we just didn’t have right now.
"I guess it won't hurt just to go look," I finally made up my mind. “I want everyone in vests, Dani?"
"Way ahead of you," she lifted the side of her shirt to show off that she already was wearing the bullet resistant vest I had given to her a few days ago. I smiled sadly thinking of how at the time she had thought the idea was ridiculous. Apparently recent events had changed her tune.
“Here,” I said walking over to the gun safe and swinging it open and then handing her the grenade launcher she had thought was just as silly as the vest. “Single shot, about one hundred and fifty yards total range. I’ve only got a handful of flares, smoke and CS rounds so get to know it cause you’re carrying it along with that M1 carbine.”
“What, why?” she asked in a new tone, now slightly more interested then appalled.
“Same reason I own it; just in case,” I smirked.
“It’s a good idea,” Clint interjected. “Flares if we need light, gas to break up a crowd or smoke to hide us. Just watch which way the wind is blowing,” he advised her. “You have any more of those hand thrown smoke grenades the search and rescue guys gave us?”
“I think I have four orange and green ones.”
“Okay let's grab those too. Colors won't hurt if we’re just trying to mask a position,” Clint instructed.
“You going to wear that plate carrier?” Blake pointed to the heavy ceramic bulletproof armor on a shelf in the corner.
“Too heavy, especially if I’m already going to be loaded down; shouldn’t need it either. I doubt anyone is going to try to tag me with a rifle,” I answered him and tried not to think about all the people who had tried to shoot me with a rifle in just the last week.
“I don’t want to run into anymore random goddamn sniper ambushes either!” Blake yelled after me as I walked out of the room.
"Speaking of which," I called back to Clint, "Are you kitted for this?"
"Yeah, I kind of upgraded to the fancy stuff before we left the house," he patted the long gun case that was leaning in the chair next to him.
“We’ve only got about four hours before it gets dark out so lets make sure everyone has a light,” I reminded them all.
"What about the tunnels? Are their rats and stuff down there?" Danielle asked.
"Shouldn’t be but in case we do have to do any shooting in there, we might want to take along a .22 or two," I answered.
"Seriously? You're afraid of a little rat
or something?" Blake looked over at me.
"Or dogs or lights or anything else that a nice quiet little twenty two can take care of. In fact, just give me a minute to change holsters and I'll stick the conversion on my CZ75. It runs great with the suppressor on there and I'll just throw the forty five slide and mags in my pack. That way I can always change it back over."
"And what if you need to transition?" Blake couldn’t believe that I would willingly load up a twenty two in place of a bigger caliber hand gun.
"Nice thing about AKs is you never need to transition," I joked.
Chapter 16
"I thought you said the steam plant was shut down," Blake pointed ahead of us.
We were slowly driving our way along the edge of town, lights off, and being very careful to not get stuck or trapped. The snow had stopped after yesterday’s short storm and was only now beginning to start up again. So far there was only about half an inch that had stuck on the open ground and nothing under the trees yet, more was obviously on its way though.
We had finally gotten close enough to get a view of town and the first noticeable thing, besides the power being off in most parts, was a grayish-white, fluffy column rising up into the clouds from behind the big grain silos that were on the edge of town. What I noticed was that the column wasn’t coming from the smokestack tower.
"It is shut down... that’s not steam, its smoke. Hey pull over up here, I want to check on the gas station," I turned in my seat and told Clint.
He pulled up and stopped the truck on the corner arterial street next to the gas station. From the looks of it, the doors were all closed up tight. The driveways in and out were unobstructed, three cars having been pushed into the little grassy drainage ditch in between the two paved lanes that led into and out of the gas pumps.
"You think they’ve got some gas left?" Blake stretched his neck around from the back seat and searched through the cracked windshield that was getting speckled with the light snow flakes.
"Doubt it. I used to know the owner. What do think is under the tarp?" I asked rhetorically and got out of the truck. Slinging my gun around on my chest I took a couple of steps toward an ominous looking pile off to one side of the parking area. The other three truck doors quickly opened and shut as Blake, Danielle and Clint all joined me. Blake and Danielle each had their FAL and M1 close at hand, and I noticed Clint checking the chamber of his old shotgun.
"You! You stop there! You don’t come any closer!" a high pitched male voice yelled at us from the direction of the darkened store as a high intensity flashlight flicked on, causing us to all shield our eyes.
"Timmy? What the fuck man?" I called out and waved to the figure on the rooftop of the one story convenience store.
"Oh hello my friend!" the light moved away and a little brown hand waved emphatically back at us. "Come, come. Come in, come in."
"Jesus dude," Blake pointed at a hand sticking out from under the tarp. Judging by the size of the pile, there had to be at least three bodies under there. The one visible hand had a red bandanna tied at the wrist. "Who the hell is this guy?"
"Its cool man, he's a friend and a kick in the pants, you'll love him," I told him.
Using the end of the silencer attached to my AK's barrel, I lifted up one end of the tarp just enough to see a blood soaked red and white checked shegmah wrapped around a partially deflated head.
"Come, we'll go inside. I'll be right down," the little man waved at us again as we walked up closer to the store. From the small amount of light we had to see by, I watched as he slung a long scoped rifle onto his back and dropped over the side of the building using a steel fire escape ladder to bring him to the ground.
Despite everything, I smiled wide as the skinny little five foot tall figure rounded the corner and came into view. He was wearing black snow pants, a green tactical type mesh vest over a turtleneck sweater and a blue stocking hat with a big fluffy white ball on the end of it that stuck straight up off of his head.
"Hello, hello. Come, we'll go get warmer inside," Timmy invited us in.
"Those guys try to steal some gas or a Pepsi or something?" Blake asked as the little man unlocked the metal gate that covered the entrance to his store.
"No man, they were bad men. Very, very bad men. They came trying to recruit me on some fucking jihad. I told them to eat a pig and they didn't like that," he relayed to us, his hard practiced English grammar still hinting at the last pieces of an old heavy accent.
"Jihad?" Clint looked concerned.
The inside of the gas station was dark until Timmy lit two small oil lamps, their glow sending the shadows back from the empty shelves and also from an impressive array of weapons that were laid out on his main counter next to the cash register.
"Not real Jihadists, just wannabees. Not even the shitty militia, Fedyeen, guerrilla dropouts. Just some freaking crazy religious, fanatic, zealot losers," Timmy spit out his adjectives precisely. He would never say it and I would never let on that I knew, but he was very proud of his ability to use such large and appropriate words, and he used them as often as possible.
I had met Timmy, which was very doubtfully his real name, maybe three years ago now when he showed up virtually overnight as the new owner of this gas station. He had come out with the same big smile and wave to talk with me as I filled up my truck at his gas pump. Timmy's first questions to me were about how bad the winters here got, how slippery the roads would be and if we ever lost power, since he was from Nevada where it didn’t get cold, as he had told me.
The little guy had made me smile and I started making a point to go in and talk with him each time I was at his station. He was a genuinely nice man and tried hard to be accepted as an American. One night he even invited me to sit in on a game of cards he and some friends were playing in the back room. It was a surprisingly fun and interesting experience. They were smoking hookah and drinking Japanese sake chased by cheap Canadian beer. I had the mother of all hangovers the next day.
"And if they were real Jihadies?" Blake asked him suspiciously. He had never met Timmy before and seemed to be a little mistrusting of him, despite my assurances.
"Same thing you do with any real goddamn Mujahadeen," Timmy squinted and picked up a really nice Benelli shotgun off the counter, letting its weight fall into his outstretched hand with a slap. "Those real muj, they are crazy bad mother fuckers. I'll tell you right now, if you hear anyone even start to say ‘Allah Ackbar,’ you shoot them in the fucking head man!" He tapped his finger on his own forehead for emphasis.
"You seem to know quite a bit about extremists, where are you from anyway?” Blake asked him, which made Timmy get a look on his face like he had just smelled something bad.
"Chill out man," I backhanded Blake's chest lightly with my hand and walked up to the counter to check out the hardware. "These yours or theirs?" I looked over the two AKs, one full size UZI, a long slide Glock pistol and a really nice looking HK UMP. There was also a pile of assorted magazines and boxes of ammo at the other end of the counter by the Lotto machine.
"They're all mine now. They had the shit guns, the nice stuff I bought," he said pointing to the AKs and Uzi as the lesser guns and proudly spanning his hands over the expensive ones as his own.
"Impressive," Clint said looking over the scoped Tikka bolt action rifle Timmy had slung on his back.
"Timmy, how'd you know these guys were just wananbees? When did this happen? Didn’t the cops come out here yet?" I asked him.
"Yeah and what's going on in town?" Blake added his question to the mix.
"You haven’t heard? Police are all gone. I talked to Mr. Grimes last week. He was headed into the city in his cruiser to move his family out. He said all our cops had taken their stuff from the station and left. So now everyone here, they are doing... what do you call it... a parade or some shit. It started over by the school. Now everyone is just smashing windows and stealing stuff."
A parade... a march... a demonstration. The riots had fina
lly reached us in our little out of the way town. I guess it wasn’t little enough.
"And these guys?" I prompted, pointing at the dark spot of the tarp in the snow.
"These assholes came here last night trying to recruit me," he continued. "Do you believe that shit? Why me?" Timmy asked with a straight face, the straight brown face of a foreigner who had only been in this country for a short while. Neither Clint, Danielle or Blake were sure if he was serious or joking and I was loving it.
"I don’t think there are any more of them around but you look out for these guys my friend. They are amateurs but dangerous as hell," he turned to me very seriously.
"How do you know that, that they're amateurs I mean?" Clint asked him.
"The hard core guys, they don't need me. They're out there in real places plotting and kidnapping. These guys came trying to get my help and then tried to shoot me when I told them to screw off."
"You did that with only a sniper rifle?" Blake asked, still not doing well at hiding his mistrust, but also seeming genuinely curious.
"Not only. They didn’t have a chance when we realized they wanted to make problems," Timmy grinned and swiveled a short barreled FN P90 around that was slung at his back, hidden underneath his snow bibs.
"We?"
"My brother Daniel and my cousin Mikhail, they are in those cars in the ditch over there," he pointed.
"Damn. Nice work," I raised an eyebrow only to be followed by Danielle's first words during the conversation.
"Your cousin is named Mikhail?"
"Yes, he is Russian but he doesn’t like to talk about it," Timmy nodded very seriously.
"Hey listen, you guys might want to think about getting out of here while the gettin's good," I suggested to him.
"What, and leave all this?" Timmy joked back.
