by Josh Hilden
“Chief,” Peter said, “Amber needs to see you in the radio room.”
“Tell her I will be there in a second.” David said, rising and attempting to straighten his uniform.
“Yes sir,” Peter said closing the door behind him.
When David entered the radio room two minutes later, he found Amber Morawski with her ears glued to the headset and her hands flying across a keyboard as she tried to keep up with whatever she was listening to. She was absolutely frenetic and that worried David, normally Amber was one of the most laid back people he knew.
“What’s going on Amber?” He asked as he snagged a cup of what was passing for coffee these days from the urn on the desk.
She held up the index finger on her right hand to signal him to wait. Then her hands returned to typing. After three more minutes she stopped and slid the headset off her head and flipped the switch so that output of the unit returned to the speakers.
“Chief there is something going on out there.” She gestured toward the defensive wall and the hostile ground on the other side of it, as opposed to the lake side of White Harbor.
“What do you mean?” He asked and then cringed as he took a drink of the bitter brown liquid. He didn’t complain, they were rationing everything and that meant reusing the old grounds for as long as possible. He highly doubted that there were any boats full of coffee beans coming in from South America anymore unless they were vessels crewed by the Dead.
“It’s encoded, and it is on the National Guard Band.” She said taking a sip of water from the White Harbor High School water bottle that she always carried to work. “But there have been a few transmissions in the clear, and near as I can tell there is some sort of Military unit nearby.”
David thought for a second and then said, “Get me Einor on the radio. I need him to take a patrol out and see what they can see.” He took another drink and then downed the entire scalding cup, it might be horrible when it was hot but it was just this side of poison when it was cold.
Two minutes later he was talking to Einor Jacobson. “Amber thinks that they are within 30 miles of the town, that means the edge of the patrol zone, over.”
“Roger that Chief, I’ll take a few of my guys out on horseback and we will reconnoiter the area, over.”
“Good hunting Einor, out.” David hoped that Einor would bring back good news, but he knew if things were bad the elder Jacobson brother could handle it.
Now if only they could figure out what to do about the Razors in Marquette. Everyone that they sent to scout the city had reported that the Razors were patrolling the area, and that they couldn’t get anywhere near the city limits. That would be OK if the bikers stayed where they were, but each scouting mission said that they were expanding outward at a frightening pace.
“Chief, I have Thorn and Herb Hilstrand at the front desk,” Peter called over the radio.
David sighed. It was going to be one of those days.
2
10:10 am EST
It felt good to be galloping across the fields without having to worry too much that the dead were going to appear. The Militia hunters cleared this area two days prior, and the numbers of the dead in the area seemed to be decreasing. Einor theorized that it was because of the cold slowing them down. He broached this idea to Amy Waters who said that there might be some truth to it, but that the human body froze at temperatures far below 32 degrees. She wasn’t sure, but she thought that it was somewhere around 25 degrees. The snow on the ground was light and powdery, the sun was shining, and the wind was minimal. In his opinion it was a glorious day to be alive.
He was riding in the center of a loose diamond formation of nine riders, with his foreman Miguel riding point. Einor had been having a rough few days, and he was glad to be off the Homestead. He and his wife had taken in 30 refugees and put them to work on the farm. Although the extra hands were welcome the cramped quarters were not. Add to that the weird vibes that he had been getting from Arn, and it made for a stressful time.
Arn’s capitulation to the Emergency Committee at the meeting shocked Einor more than anyone else. He knew his little brother better than the people of White Harbor. They saw the hard working, good natured man who did his best to improve the township and the village. While most people presumed that he did those things for most altruistic reasons, Einor knew buried deep within his little brother was a man who loved power for power’s own sake, and that anything that he did that helped people was a byproduct of his quest for more power.
It wasn’t that he didn’t love Arn, but he didn’t trust him any further than he could throw him. Since the rising of the Dead, Arn had been agreeing to everything that the Emergency Council decided and not raising a bit of fuss or trying to turn it to his advantage. This worried Einor almost as much as the Dead themselves. Arn had been the one who set up the distribution of the moonshine and marijuana being produced on the Jacobson farm after all. He had connections with people Einor wanted nothing to do with under normal circumstances. Now he was wondering if perhaps he should have taken more of an interest in what Arn was doing over the last few years.
Lost in his thoughts Einor was the last to hear the noise coming from the Southeast. They had all become so accustomed to the sounds of the Dead in the last couple of weeks that the sounds of multiple vehicle engines took him a moment to identify. The group of Militia Hunters came together and drew their long arms as they observed White River Drive from the field. Einor’s jaw dropped when he saw the first vehicle round the bend. He’d been in the Army during Desert Storm and recognized the profile of an M-113 Bradley fighting vehicle. Both the flags of the United States and the state of Michigan flew from the rear.
“What the fuck is going on Boss?” Miguel asked. “Does this mean that it’s over and that the Feds are back in control?”
Einor saw the hodge-podge of vehicles following the Bradley and shook his head, they were all armored and armed but there was little uniformity in the unit beyond a dark blue flag with a silver number one. It was obviously handmade, even if done with not a little skill. “Nope Miguel, I’m ‘fraid not, these people have either been on the road for a long time or I’m a liar.” He smiled at his childhood friend, “And you know I am not a liar.” The men laughed but none of them lowered their rifles. They’d dealt with too many bandits and assorted human scum since the rising to let their guard down now.
“Miguel, radio this in to the Chief and then you boys cover me. I am going down there to see if they be friend or foe.” Before anyone could argue with him, he tapped his heels on the horse’s flank and set off for the road below. He knew this could be a lot of trouble or perhaps the help that the over stretched and terrified community needed.
3
10:30am EST
“Well look at that Colonel,” The young driver said pointing to the road in front of them. The big bus was third in the caravan with the Bitch and one of the Bradleys riding ahead. The other Bradley was playing caboose for the unit. Lisa was sitting off to the side, watching Charlie as he colored in some coloring books that she had gotten him a few days before. She looked up at the sound of the driver’s voice.
“Charlie, why don’t you go back and play with your Mom?” Lisa said, shooing the boy toward Nancy who was at a small work desk going over supply inventory. The little boy trotted over to his mother, and Lisa headed for the front of the bus that was already slowing down.
“What’s going on?” Lisa asked as she looked out the window.
“Don’t know Colonel, that guy just appeared out there.” The driver said. Lisa knew that he’d lied about his age and that might barely be 15 but the kid could drive like a pro. In the increasingly bad weather they’d been having that was more important than legality.
Lisa reached down and absently made sure that her pistol was strapped to her hip. She felt rather than heard Nancy come forward to stand by her. She took strength from her presence. The night before had been glorious and Lisa felt like a teenager in the
throes of new love, but right now there was serious business to attend to.
“Who is that?” Nancy asked scrutinizing the man on horseback.
“Not sure Love,” Lisa said feeling a cool and delicious rush to openly use a term of endearment. For so long she’d had to conceal what she was. Now with these people she was free to be what she was meant to be. And she wanted everyone to know it.
Nancy smiled and took her hand, “Be careful out there.” She said. That was something Lisa loved about her. She let Lisa be Lisa and knew without asking that she had to handle this.
Lisa motioned to the two Scouts assigned to protect her, against her loud protests, to follow her out the door. The air outside was cold and biting, but the sunshine felt good on her skin. The man in front of the Caravan waited patiently as she walked forward, joined by four more guards who’d either been sent by Rich or Capshaw. The horse was tall and majestic. It made Lisa sad. They had seen field after field on their trek North full of the corpses of horses and cattle not able to flee the dead and devoured, probably wondering why the humans that they trusted had not come to protect them.
When she and the security detail reached the front of the Bradley the man on the horse dismounted and pointedly left his scope mounted hunting rifle in the scabbard on the saddle. Lisa hoped that he was here to parlay and not to warn them off.
“Howdy!” he called in that slightly lilting accent that she remembered from her summers as a girl on the lake. “It’s been a long stretch since we seen this many people on the road at once who were still breathing.” It sounded nonchalant but Lisa’s combat reflexes had been reactivated and she could tell that the man was terrified. She did not know by what yet.
Suddenly, Lisa thought that she knew this man. She’d not been up here since the one trip with Sandy after coming home from Afghanistan.
“Howdy yourself,” she began and stopped for half a second to consider her options. She could play the military card and demand that they be allowed into the town. She could try for sympathy but her people were a little too well armed and fed for that too necessarily work. Or she could go for the neighbor approach. She decided on the latter and kept her mental fingers crossed.
“Tell me, is Thorn Hilstrand still the Mayor in town?” She asked, and had to hide a grin at the expression on the man’s face. She didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but she would have bet a week’s worth of food that question would never have crossed his mind in a million years.
“Uh…no, Thornton stepped down a few years ago. Arn Jacobson is mayor now, but Old Thorn sits on the Emergency Council.” He looked really hard at her and then said, “I’m sorry, do I know you?”
“Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing.” Now she grinned and approached the man. When they were less than 15 feet apart she stopped. “Do you remember a man named Maynard Sutton?” She asked.
The man in the winter hunter’s camouflage and riding boots looked gob smacked. “HOLY SHIT!” He exclaimed and then damn near knocked her over as he embraced her. Her guards sprang to grab the man but she used her free hand to wave them back, they did not seem happy. “You’re Little Lisa!” He cried and then started laughing.
When he said those words the man’s identity snapped home in her mind. “Uncle Einor!” She cried and hugged him back just as hard.
They released one another and he held her at arm’s length studying her noticing the silver oak leafs on her collar. “Well I’ll be dipped in shit, Little Lisa a Colonel.” There was pride in the older man’s voice. Einor Jacobson and the Hilstrand brothers had been her Grandfathers closest friends in White Harbor. It was the friendship that he’d forged with Einor over the years of hunting and fishing in the area that lead him to become a property owner, and through him Lisa. Unlike most out-of-towners Maynard Sutton managed to earn the respect and friendship of the people of White Harbor. When he retired here they had accepted him as a local.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, “Last time I talked to your sister in August she said that you were in Ann Arbor doing the Doctor thing. Not that we’ve seen much of you in the last few years, we’ve missed you.” There was that pride again, but this time mixed with sadness and maybe a touch of anger. She and Sandy spent so much time here that they might as well be locals. After Pa died, only Sandy had continued coming up here regularly to the house and land the sisters shared.
“It’s a long story,” she took a deep breath and decided to go whole hog and accept her fate. “I am establishing my command here in White Harbor Uncle Einor. Where can we bivouac?” She didn’t ask permission, she told him what she was doing and he reacted the way she’d hoped.
“There is plenty of cleared land outside of the defensive walls where you can camp while we make arrangements to move your people inside.” He hesitated and then asked, “Are you here to take over?” She knew that question would come, and it was best that it came early on.
“No, I have no intention of assuming direct control of the area’s administration. But if the 1st Michigan…” She was cut off by a roar from the caravan.
“WOLVERINES!” They roared.
Einor smiled as she rolled her eyes and then continued, “But if the 1st Michigan is going to stick around and help rebuild and defend the area, we will need a say in the running of things.” She knew there was an even chance he would tell her to go to hell, so she waited for the response.
“Well…I don’t have a problem with that, but you are going to have to run it past the council. We have a Militia here.” He pointed to the Captain’s bars sewn to the collar of his jacket, “But we’ve been dug in for awhile now.” He scratched his head under his knit cap and shrugged his shoulders before continuing. “Let's get you all to town and we can figure this out there.” He said and waved for his people to come down from the field overlooking the road.
“Fair enough,” she said. She was smiling as she walked back to the bus. They had their foot in the door and all they had to do now was kick real hard. Once, to two little girls who’d been through too much in their short lives, this had been their home away from home. The only place that they’d felt safe. It would be again if she had anything to say about it.
4
West of White Harbor
November 9, 2012 AD (Day Twenty Three)
7:45pm EST
Arn Jacobson was pissed off. More and more he was losing the little power he had left in White Harbor after the ambush they sprung on him last month. Now the entire Emergency Council had ceded control of the Militia and the Defense of the White River Valley to some cunt in an Army uniform.
They wouldn’t trust him to run things when they got tough and so they turned to Hall, at least Hall had been a man not a fucking degenerate woman. They’d turned to this Sutton bitch. He’d known her grandfather a little and he was sure that the old man was rolling over in his grave at the knowledge that his granddaughter was a fucking muff diver. She didn’t even try to hide it, her and that little brunette fuck toy she’d brought with her walked around town hand in hand with that little boy. Arn figured he that was probably going to grow up to be a little cock sucker because of them.
His anger was getting to him. He needed to remind himself that nobody was plowing the roads anymore and that he’d better concentrate on driving the snowmobile. He was already late for his meeting with James, but he knew the man would understand the situation. Shit happened and sometimes you had to roll with it. Up ahead he saw the outline of the building that he’d been told to come to.
It was weird to see an abandoned McDonalds in America. In the days when the worst crisis facing the country was the economy, the nigger president, and all the homos wanting to get married and brainwash children the immortality of the Golden Arches was one of the few things that could be counted on. But this McDonalds had security gates rolled down over the windows and the doors and everything was covered in four inches of fresh snow. Arn pulled his snowmobile around back and stopped three feet from the burly man
with the assault rifle guarding the back door.
“Hey Books!” He called to Arn, using the nickname that James gave him and that everyone in the Razors used as a term of affection. These were his true family and they all knew it. “You made it! James was getting worried with the weather and you being alone.”
“Hi Bulldog,” He said embracing the older man, “Had trouble slipping off. I have some serious info to pass on.”
