The Journal: Martial Law

by Deborah D. Moore

“Weren’t you briefed that I hold the rank of captain in the army?”

  “No, ma’am, I wasn’t.”

  “I think as commander of the post though, I outrank myself,” she chuckled. “Also, even though she doesn’t have any military experience and no rank, my personal assistant, Haley Hanson, is to be treated with the respect that I would be treated with, understood?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “If I’m not available, seek her out and I will get your messages and be disturbed if it’s urgent,” Vivian said. “If it’s top secret, however, save it for me. I will redact it and inform her with what she will need to know.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “All this ‘yes, ma’am’ is giving me a headache.” She sighed. “Come on, Commander Coulter is getting ready to leave.”

  ***

  John waited impatiently beside his aging motorhome. As before, he brought up the rear, though this time it was as second in command. John’s biggest concern was that Haley would ask to ride with him, although he hadn’t seen much of her the past two days. His walkie squawked.

  “John, we’re ready to leave. Come to Jarrett’s command center for a few goodbyes.” Hank disconnected abruptly.

  John made his way to the area of activity and stood beside Hank, who was smiling like the Cheshire Cat.

  “I want to thank everyone who made my loss here more bearable, especially John Tiggs,” Vivian said. “He found me half dead and brought me back.” She looked at him and smiled. “And I hate to do this to you John, but I’m taking from you another of your successes. I’ve hired Haley as my new PA, so she won’t be going with you.”

  John was stunned.

  Haley, hair freshly cut short and free of the bleached blonde, stepped out of the crowd and stood in front of him. “Goodbye, John, I’ll never forget you.” Her bottom lip quivered as she reached out to him. He folded her in his arms, hugged her tight, and kissed her cheek.

  “You just passed life lesson number three,” he whispered in her ear. “It’s called letting go.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  To avoid refugee-clogged Tallahassee completely, they took back roads and empty highways north then west, and camped out for the night outside of Dothan, Alabama. They refueled in the morning and moved on across Mississippi until they came to the Mississippi River.

  “Well this isn’t good,” John said to Hank, looking over the sea of vehicles waiting to cross the single bridge.

  “Let me see if I can get us moved up, or at least see how long the wait is,” Hank replied. “Maybe you should come with me.” They took his lead pickup truck that was clearly marked with the FEMA logo and drove alongside of the mile long line of cars to the front.

  A quarter mile from the bridge they were stopped by a barricade and someone waving them off. John drove right up to the flimsy orange and white fence and turned the truck sideways so the logo was unmistakable to those on both sides. Hank got out and walked up to the guard.

  “Good afternoon. How long is the wait?” Hank said, knowing it was easier to ask for a favor with more information.

  “Maybe an hour, sir. There was an accident that is blocking both directions and we’re having trouble locating a wrecker.”

  “I see. Would something else work in its stead? We’ve got a couple of semi-tractors that could drag the wreckage out of the way,” Hank offered.

  The guard’s eyes brightened. He picked up his walkie and took a few steps away. A moment later he was back. “That would be greatly appreciated, sir.”

  The driver of the semi with the command center attached pulled out of line and followed John to the front of the line where Hank waited with the guard. They detached the mobile office and the driver and John drove over the bridge to the scene of the accident where an old red pickup truck and a new brown minivan were tangled. Emergency services had extricated all the victims, and fortunately the only injuries were to the two vehicles.

  “Looks like you could use some help getting these wrecks off the bridge,” John said in his soft North Carolina drawl. “Which one do you want us to drag away first?”

  With help from the remaining crew and the power of the semi-tractor, the pickup truck was righted and pulled off the bridge. The minivan was too mangled to right and was dragged off, the metal protesting and screeching against the concrete. After the bridge was cleared of the wreckage, John got out of the semi with a broom and dust pan, and cleaned up the broken glass that was sure to cause more than one flat tire. An hour later, traffic was again flowing, though slowly.

  “Commander Coulter,” a tall and lanky official said, “thank you for your assistance. It would have taken much longer than anticipated to clean up this mess had we waited for a wrecker. Can I show you our appreciation by moving you to the front of the line?”

  “Thank you, sir, we’re glad to be of help. We’ll wait our turn.” Hank got in the truck with John and they drove back in silence.

  “So what was that all about, Hank? I thought you wanted to get moved up,” John asked before returning to his last in line spot.

  “After observing all that was going on, I thought it best. FEMA doesn’t have the best of reputations but we can. By helping and not asking for anything in return, we’ve moved up a notch. That was a really smart move cleaning up the glass. People are going to be talking about that for years.”

  ***

  Two days of traveling later, the Gator Garrison set camp in the arid panhandle of northern Oklahoma near the border of Texas.

  “Explain this to me, Hank,” John said, sitting at the table in the commander’s more luxurious motorhome. “Why here?”

  “It would seem that Texas has enacted their sovereignty and has closed their borders. There are a lot of refugees trying to get into Texas from the other side of the Continental Divide where it’s even more unstable. Texas doesn’t want them. We’re here to feed them and guide them east.”

  “Texas can do that?”

  “I don’t know how legal it is, though I do know all resources are spread so thin there’s no one to stop them. We will make do as best we can,” Hank said.

  “At least there aren’t any gators or snakes here,” John commented.

  “I’m sure you’ll see your share of rattlesnakes, John, so don’t get complacent. I think the biggest animal concerns we’ll have are coyotes, wolves and bears, maybe some elk. Most of the animals perished in the initial blast from Yellowstone, the rest stampeded. Although I hear bear and elk meat is really good I doubt we’ll find out. The bigger the mammal the quicker it went down.” Hank stood, John’s dismissal signal. “Right now we need to finish setting up the compound.”

  “I’ll make sure all the staff are aware of the possible dangers and have them tighten the perimeters.”

  ***

  “Damn that wind is cold!” Sam complained, pulling the collar of his jacket higher.

  “Yeah, and it looks like rain—or snow—is coming this way too,” John observed. They walked together around the outside of the horseshoe made by the trucks and campers. “From the direction of this wind, let’s move those two semis to help buffer the worst of it. You take care of that while I talk to Seth.”

  ***

  “Yeah, I noticed how cold it’s gotten in the last few hours. I thought Oklahoma was a warm state,” Seth said.

  “I’m not sure anything is as it was before Yellowstone blew,” John said. “The clouds moving in are getting worse. Can you speed up dinner? I don’t think anyone is going to be willing to come out if it starts raining hard.”

  “How about Molly and I set up a sandwich buffet? That way we can all take food back to our campers or tents and stay dry,” Seth suggested.

  “Good idea.”

  John knew that Seth had a sleeper cab as part of his food truck, and he and his wife Molly wouldn’t be affected much by the storm. Tho
se in tents might not be so lucky. He headed back to the command center looking for Hank.

  “Getting everything settled?” Hank asked.

  “Yeah, Sam is re-circling the wagons to block the wind this storm is bringing, and Seth is setting up an early buffet so everyone can get back to their quarters to stay dry,” John reported.

  “I can tell by your tone there’s more. What aren’t you telling me?”

  John chuckled. “I’m thinking that those in tents might want to stay the night inside something sturdier. It looks really bad, Hank, though it could blow right past us.”

  “This is your call, John. Do you think it’s going to be bad enough that they should drop the tents?”

  “We’ve got time to make that decision, let me think about it. How do you feel about some of the crew spending the night here inside the command center?”

  “If need be to keep them safe, sure.” Hank looked out the window toward the approaching storm. “I spent some time in here earlier and got things set up. The SAT phone is working and quite a few backlogged faxes came in. Once we get our dinner, I’d like you to join me at my trailer so I can go over some new information with you.”

  ***

  Inside his motorhome, John retrieved two covered meal trays and saw a metal plaque inside the cupboard he hadn’t noticed before. He wiped the dust off to read it. It was the manufacturing tag and read: Travco Motor Coach 1961, Brown City, Michigan—Proud Motorhome Capital of Michigan. John sighed. Brown City, where Allexa’s sister lived. Would he ever get away from reminders of her? He took the meal trays and headed over to the mess tent.

  “Looks worse out there,” Kevin said, glancing out the open flap when he lined up behind John for his early dinner.

  “We’ve got the go-ahead to collapse the tents and for those that don’t have a camper to ride out the storm in the command center,” John said to Sam, in line in front of him.

  “That makes me feel a lot better. I’ll get the guys started on doing that as soon as everyone gets their trays where they need to. It’s still going to be nasty though.”

  ***

  The storm started an hour later, a gentle drizzle at first that quickly built into blustery sheets of icy cold rain. Thunder rocked the trailers and intense flashes of lightning illuminated the compound. Those caught outside were quickly drenched as they dropped the tents and drove vehicles over the edges to keep them from blowing away.

  “It was a good call to collapse the tents and get everyone into the command center,” John said to Hank, accepting a cup of hot coffee to go with his two sandwiches and mound of macaroni salad. Another gust of wind caused the coffee to slosh.

  “Yeah, that came in quick. I hate to think of people caught out in this. First thing in the morning we need to get things back up. I have a feeling we’re going to see our first incoming soon,” Hank said, sitting across from John. “How is Sam working out as your new official assistant?” He poked through his salad and picked out the green peppers that always upset his stomach.

  “He’s good with the new responsibilities, though it really isn’t much different than before. So what kind of news came in today?” John asked, taking a bite of his salami on rye.

  “There’s been another earthquake. This time it hit the Upper Peninsula in Michigan. You’ve got family there, don’t you?”

  John was stunned into silence. “Yeah, I do, sort of,” he finally said. “When did it happen?”

  “About a month ago, around Christmas. News is slow getting around now. It was a 10.9 and basically broke the U.P. in half. It also seems that a city there, Marquette, is burning out of control. Do you know the place?”

  John put his sandwich down, his usual big appetite had faded. “Yeah, that’s the biggest city up there. I lived about thirty miles northwest of there for a couple of years, in Moose Creek.” He gulped down a third of his coffee, reached in the overhead cupboard for the bottle of whiskey he knew was there, and refilled his cup, leaving the bottle on the table. “It’s a remote place. Was there a lot of damage from the quake?” He hoped the heated whiskey would thaw the tight chill he was feeling in his chest.

  Hank took a bite of his sandwich and then shuffled the stack of papers on the table. Finding the one he was looking for, he said, “There were a lot of deaths from the flooding. Apparently, the crack created extends from Lake Superior all the way to Lake Michigan, and Superior is draining. I don’t know much about that area, though I do recall that’s a big lake.”

  “Yeah, it’s more like an inland ocean. What’s going to happen?”

  “I have no idea. That’s all that was said about that region, and that news is over a month old.”

  “Anything else?”

  “More rioting, more food shortages, and more flu outbreaks.” Hank set the papers aside. “The country is a mess, John. I’m just glad we have a small part in helping.”

  Another long roll of thunder ended with faint pinging. The noise increased, turning harsh and violent.

  “What the hell?” Hank moved aside the short green curtain covering the window, and gasped. “Look at this, John!”

  John was already up and opening the narrow metal door for a better look. Golf ball sized hail pounded the vehicles and soon covered the ground with a carpet of icy white. The noise was deafening.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Dawn broke with dirty skies and strong winds rattling the campers. The hail had melted during the night. John made coffee knowing Hank would be by soon. He had slept poorly and his thoughts kept returning to Moose Creek and Allexa. He understood there was no way to get word to her or to find out how she was. All he could do was hope Dr. Mark kept his word about being there for her. Dwelling on her would only be a distraction he couldn’t afford. John wolfed down his unfinished sandwich from the previous night and put the other one in his tiny refrigerator for later.

  ***

  “Let’s get over to the command center and see how everyone fared the night,” Hank said, accepting the mug John handed him.

  “If you don’t mind, I think Seth should do breakfast inside.”

  “I was thinking the same thing. It might change in the next few hours. On the other hand this weather could last another day.”

  ***

  The command center suffered three cracked windows and hundreds of small dents in the metallic siding. With the mobile unit always on the transport trailer, flooding was never an issue, unless there was a big flood, and then they would have had other worries.

  “Sorry, there simply isn’t enough room in here to cook and everyone eat,” Seth said. “I made a big pot of oatmeal inside the trailer, which will have to do until we can get the tent back up.” Even though the food trailer wasn’t set up for cooking, Seth and Molly had adapted to the need and improvised.

  “Doesn’t matter, Seth, as long as the food is hot and plentiful for the crews,” Hank replied. “When the wind dies down we’ll be sure you are the first one up.”

  ***

  John took his brown sugar oatmeal outside and walked around while he ate. Large puddles of rain water lingered on the parched ground and were slow to sink in. He walked around them absentmindedly, not wanting to slip in the greasy mud. With the rising sun at his back, he stared at the western horizon, the few stars winking out as the sky cleared. In spite of the harsh, cold rain of the night, it was going to be a hot and steamy day.

  By noon time, the ground was dry and the winds had stopped.

  “Okay, let’s get these tents back up and get organized,” Hank called out. “We could be seeing traffic at any time now.”

  Everyone scurried about, thankful for something to do. Twenty people pulled on ropes and set poles, the rip-stop nylon still heavy from the night of rain. Although the refugee tents weren’t needed yet, four of them went up to keep the workers occupied with something useful.

  Around
noon fifteen people, the first group of refugees, wandered into the camp. Most of them were cold, wet, and hungry.

  “Let’s get everyone something to eat and then we will start the processing,” Hank said, directing the strangers into the mess tent where Seth, Molly, and Harris served everyone a bowl of soup and a large dinner roll.

  “Is this it?” a young woman complained. The two children clinging to her rain drenched jeans were no help in carrying the food.

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” John said. “Let me carry this for you and help you find a seat.” He quickly grabbed a tray and set the three bowls together.

  “This doesn’t look like much. My boys are really hungry.”

  “There will be more, I promise. We have found when someone hasn’t eaten in a while, it’s best to start out with something simple,” John said. “It’s easier on the stomach. After you’re done, I’ll take you to the processing tent and then to the tent where you will stay until there are enough to transport to Oklahoma City. Later this afternoon there will be a more substantial dinner.”

  “What happens in Oklahoma City?” she asked, spooning some soup into the mouth of the youngest child.

  “Honestly, I haven’t been there so I don’t know for sure. I do know they will take care of you and help you settle somewhere. This FEMA unit is more of a stepping stone to get you to the next stage.” The older boy had finished his soup and was tearing the roll apart. John knelt down beside him. “What’s your name?”

  “Johnny,” the mother answered. “This is Henry, and I’m Mary.”

  “Johnny? That’s my name!” John said with a smile. The little boy glanced at him and quickly looked away, continuing to turn his bread into crumbs.

  ***