The Journal: Martial Law

by Deborah D. Moore

  John assessed the scene quickly. “Sure. Follow me.” He moved away from the command center and headed for one of the tents. He turned back to the lead rider as he opened the tent. “I think you can even get your bikes inside, though it might be a bit tight. I’d hate to see such nice machines blasted by all that dirt.”

  “Thank you.” He pushed his bike inside, following John and looked around, confused. “What is this place?”

  “This is the children’s play center,” John said, pushing a playpen into a corner, and shoving a cot to the side.

  “Where are the kids?” The man’s voice was laced with concern. He ran his fingers through his short, dark hair.

  “There aren’t any with the recent load of refugees, so you’re welcome to use it. Everything else is taken.”

  “I really appreciate it, especially getting our bikes out of the storm. By the way, my name is Anthony Cheepa,” he said, extending his hand. “L.A.P.D.”

  John took his hand. “John Tiggs, FEMA.”

  The other riders filed in, pushing their bikes into a neat line against the far wall.

  “I’m assuming we can use the cots? We’ve been riding hard all morning to stay ahead of the storm and we’re pretty tired,” Anthony said. “And I hate to impose even further but—”

  “FEMA’s goal is to shelter and feed all refugees and help them onto the next leg of their journey. The mess tent is still open, though you might want to hurry. They need to button down too,” John said with a nod. The group of eight men left their helmets and leather gloves on their individual bikes, and fell in line behind John.

  ***

  “Anthony, my boss would like to speak with you in the command center,” John said quietly.

  “Hank, this is Anthony Cheepa, L.A.P.D. and the spokesperson for our new guests. Anthony, Commander Hank Coulter,” John made the introductions and sat on the edge of his desk.

  “A cop? I must admit that sets my mind more at ease. Seeing a group of masked bikers pull into my camp was a bit unnerving,” Hank admitted.

  “I’ve no doubt we present a fearsome image, but we’re all good guys. And since we are all single, when things really started to tank we got together to bug out. My friends and I ride one weekend a month and I will admit we are a rather strange and eclectic group. Other than me being a cop, we have two firemen, a CPA, a computer engineer and an orthodontist.” Anthony laughed. “The other two joined us yesterday, so I really can’t vouch for them, though they seem like decent guys. We’re only trying to get east where things are more stable.”

  “Tell us what you know about this storm,” John said. “I spotted it only a half hour ago while on patrol.”

  “The howling winds woke me during the night. We had just enough time to pack our sleeping rolls and get moving before it completely enveloped us. It’s moving fast, maybe forty miles per hour, and my guess is we have less than a half hour before it gets here. On these dirt roads it was hard to stay ahead of it on street bikes.” Anthony took a drink of water. “We also had to leave behind all our gear and supplies.”

  “We’ll try to help you out as much as possible, though our own supplies are stretched pretty thin,” Hank said. “We’re at the end of our rotation and will be packing up to leave soon to resupply and be reassigned.”

  “Anything would be appreciated. Oh, one of the new guys sliced his hand up before joining us. Do you have a medic?”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “I see you’re wearing your service pistol, Anthony. Please keep it in check. This is a FEMA camp and I’m not sure what the rules are for local law enforcement having weapons,” John said, walking back to children’s tent area.

  “I think we’re still allowed but I’ll talk to the others about the rules,” Anthony said.

  “This new guy with the injured hand,” John stopped Anthony before they entered the tent, “I want you to stay with him, and so will I. Dr. CeeCee is not only a beautiful woman, she’s the only trauma doctor within hundreds of miles. I won’t allow her to be in any danger.”

  “Understood, though I don’t think it will be a problem.”

  ***

  “Let’s make this quick so we can all get to where we need to be before the storm hits,” CeeCee said, all business. “Sit and let me look.” She turned the man’s hand palm up to see the jagged gash was already infected. “How did this happen?” She took chilled saline and washed the wound aggressively.

  “I grabbed the wrong end of a knife. Ow!” Calvin James winced as the doctor swabbed some disinfectant into the cut and started stitching.

  She jabbed his arm with a needle. “Antibiotics, it’s infected.” Without looking up, she asked, “How long will this storm last, John?”

  “A day, two at the most.”

  “That was a strong dose I gave you. When the storm has passed, I’ll check it again, and maybe have to drain it. For now, you’re fine.” She wrapped and taped the hand. “Now everyone get out of here.”

  Calvin, feeling bold, said, “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay and keep you company?” He gave her his best lustful smile.

  “No thanks,” she answered dryly. Turning her back to him, she said to John, holding his eyes with hers, “Send Sam back over when you get to the command center.” He nodded in understanding and left.

  ***

  “I think we may have an issue with one of the new arrivals. He made a pass at Doc. Don’t worry, she shut him down, but he’s one of the group Anthony can’t vouch for, so he’s an unknown factor,” John informed Hank. “She wants you back there now,” he said looking directly at Sam. “You’ve got a sidearm. Does Harris have one?”

  “He has one, though he doesn’t keep it with him. I’ll talk to him about that,” Sam said on his way out the door.

  ***

  The roar of the storm preceded the cloud by mere minutes.

  “Damn that’s loud,” Hank said as the harsh wind assaulted the thin walls of the command center.

  “It’s likely to get louder, and even if it doesn’t, it will seem like it after a few more hours,” John said. “I think it might be a good opportunity to clean a few guns, a job I’ve been neglecting.”

  “Good way to pass the time. There’s a box on the other desk with a couple of handguns. They’re all tagged with a name and what’s wrong with them,” Hank said, picking up a stack of papers to sign.

  John sat down at the desk with the guns and removed the gun oil, swabs, and a tool kit from the drawer. “What’s this about being reassigned soon?”

  “That came in yesterday. We’ve been in this one spot a lot longer than usual. The brass wants us back in Muncie, Indiana, where we will get a few weeks’ break and then be reassigned,” Hank said. “John…” he hesitated, then went on, “you’ve been with me for over a year…”

  “Seventeen months and twelve days,” he replied, not looking up from his task.

  “Right. I guess that says it all. You want to go home, don’t you?”

  “I’ve wanted to go home for the last eighteen months.” John picked up the next handgun and said, “Shit!”

  “What?” Hank questioned.

  “This is Harris’ gun.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “All it needs is a cleaning. I think I’ll do that real quick and take it over to him,” John said, scowling.

  “I wonder why Sam didn’t come back for it.”

  “The storm started almost immediately after he left, Hank. I don’t think anyone is in any danger while this is still going on.” John finished swabbing the barrel with gun oil, then oiled and worked the slide. He reinserted the full magazine, chambered a round, and set the safety on. “Done. I’m going over.”

  John slipped on his hooded jacket, snug fitting shooting goggles, and a face mask. He pulled the hood tight around his face, put the pistol into one of the dee
p pockets, and zipped the pocket closed.

  He stepped out into the storm and immediately wished he hadn’t. The harsh wind lashed his face with grit, dirt, and bits of rock as he inched his way along the guide rope leading to the infirmary.

  ***

  “What are you doing back here?’ Dr. CeeCee asked when the door opened and closed.

  Calvin James shook the dirt and sand off his hood and jacket. “I got bored and thought it would be much more pleasant to spend some time with a pretty lady.”

  Harris came through the door that separated the patients from the front office reading a chart. “Everyone is settled down for the night, doc. I can take watch if you want to catch some sleep…” He stopped when he saw Calvin point a gun at him. When Calvin pulled the trigger, Harris slumped to the floor.

  “Why did you do that?” CeeCee cried out, knocking over her chair as she stood.

  “Just eliminating the competition.”

  CeeCee froze, and then made a decision, knowing what she had to do and having very little time to do it. She closed in on Calvin and smiled. “Oh, you don’t have any competition. In fact,” she removed her hand from her smock pocket and placed it on his shoulder, “you’re not even in the running.” She sneered and drove the hidden scalpel into the side of his neck, severing the carotid artery. Blood instantly gushed from the wound like a fountain set on high. As he fell, his body jerked in death throes and his fingers contracted into a fist, pulling the trigger on the gun still in his hand.

  ***

  John was twenty feet from the tent when he heard the first shot. The wind ripped at his clothes, holding him from moving as quickly as he needed to. The second shot rang out only moments before he yanked the door open.

  CeeCee stood over Calvin James. His blood drenched her once white smock and dripped off her fingers. She looked up at a shocked John.

  “Not my blood, John,” she said calmly and noticed he was looking past her. She turned and saw Sam sprawled on the floor in a growing puddle of crimson.

  “NO!” She ran to his side, kneeling in his blood.

  “CeeCee, let me help. What do you want me to do?” John hovered over her, pleading for her attention.

  She stared blankly at him, then her focus returned and she snapped out of her shock.

  “The gurney. I need something high enough to work on him.”

  John pulled the mobile bed closer and lifted his friend onto the clean linens. CeeCee ripped open Sam’s shirt, exposing the hole in his pale chest, and caught a sob. John handed her the stethoscope from the desk, trying to keep her focused. She took the device and listened—to silence, then started weeping in earnest.

  John put his arm around her shoulders and led her back to her desk. He righted her chair and made her sit. He got a sheet from the hamper and covered Sam, noticing Harris for the first time. He swallowed hard and picked Harris up off the floor, placing him on the nearest cot and covering him too. Knowing he needed to finish, he draped a sheet over Calvin James. Three dead in a matter of moments.

  ***

  The storm veered away a few hours later, leaving in its wake a sullen, saddened, and angry group of humanitarians.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “I don’t know what to say, Commander,” Anthony said. His entire group was sitting in the command post, under guard. “We were all sleeping and didn’t hear him leave the tent, not that we could’ve heard anything with the storm surrounding us.”

  “You were supposed to watch him!” John growled. His anger was beyond simmering. Sam was the closest thing he had to a friend next to Hank, and now he was gone, dead from a stray bullet.

  “You’re right, but I didn’t kill your two crew members and neither did anyone sitting here!” Anthony ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Look, you can’t imagine how sorry I am this happened and I won’t even try to convince you of that.” His voice softened, “All I’m asking is to let us stay and help dig the graves.”

  ***

  Three graves were dug, with everyone taking a turn, including Dr. CeeCee, although she only managed two shovelfuls before collapsing in tears.

  The two bodies, those of Harris and Sam, wrapped in shrouds of clean white sheets, were lowered into the ground. The third body, that of Calvin James, was wrapped in the bloody sheets of the two men he killed.

  “He wasn’t that bad of guy,” Rick, his only friend muttered.

  Anthony had overheard him. “What did you say?”

  “I knew him for a lot of years. He really wasn’t such a bad guy, is all I’m saying.”

  Anthony’s anger boiled over. “Not such a bad guy? He killed two men in cold blood!” When Rick didn’t reply, Anthony burst. “Maybe you should join him then if you were such pals.” He pushed Rick into the grave of the killer then drew his service pistol and shot Rick in the forehead. He picked up the shovel and started filling it in. John stood behind him, nodded, and picked up the other shovel.

  ***

  The remaining bikers stayed on for another week, helping to break camp, and then gave the solemn caravan an escort to Oklahoma City.

  “Thanks, Anthony,” Hank said, shaking hands with the police officer. “We’re leaving most everything here and taking one bus back to Muncie. You and your men are welcome to come with us. FEMA has a bigger pass right now than law enforcement. We can help you get where you need to go.”

  “Thank you, Hank, I think we’ll take you up on that.” Anthony turned to John. “Will you be okay with us riding along with you?”

  “I don’t have any problems with that,” John said, and stuck out his hand. He realized he would have been leaving Sam behind once they got to Muncie anyway. The way it happened was harder, and it was just as final.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  It was the fifteenth of March when the weary group pulled into the parking lot of the FEMA headquarters in Muncie, Indiana. The six motorcycles parked in a neat line beside the bus and riders dismounted to stretch their aching bodies.

  John stepped off the bus and joined them while Hank went inside to find his contact.

  “From what Hank has told me, we will all likely need to go inside and get updated ID and passes. I would highly recommend you leave your weapons in your saddlebags,” John said. “And if I could get a hand getting the other bike out of the bus’s storage compartment, I’d really appreciate it.” With two riders buried out in Oklahoma, it was agreed that John could have one of the motorcycles for himself. With the bike parked next to the other six, he removed his Beretta and paddle holster and buried it in the left saddlebag.

  “Why can’t you carry that inside, John?” Anthony asked. “You’re FEMA.”

  “It’s complicated.” John ran his hands across his bald head, pushing his ever present knit cap off and setting it back in place. “To be honest, I’m conscripted, and rules are that forced labor is unarmed.”

  “I thought you’re Hank’s second in command?” Anthony said, confused.

  “I am, and part of my job in the beginning was to maintain everyone’s gun. Hank saw the wisdom in ignoring the unarmed rule and also promoted me after my six months were over. My initial stay was for those six months; it’s now been eighteen. I’m done, I’ve served more than my time and I’m finally going home, as soon as I get an official FEMA ID that will have the locals in my route leave me alone,” John said. “Oh, and I want you to have this.” He slid a plastic card into Anthony’s hand. “It’s your ticket to unlimited fuel, courtesy of the government. Just don’t tell Hank you have it.” He grinned.

  Anthony slipped the card into his pocket with a nod.

  ***

  Hank rejoined his crew on the bus. “Anthony, I’m sorry, the brass can’t give you FEMA passes, but for your escort they offered two dozen food vouchers and accommodations for a couple of nights.” He handed him a stuffed envelope. �
�John, you’re the only one that needs a new photo ID. Everyone else needs to swipe their cards and it will automatically update.”

  “After this I’m free to go home?” John asked, trying to make sure he wasn’t signing up for another six months of servitude.

  “Yes, John, you’ll be free to leave. I wish you would stay, but I’m grateful for the extra year you voluntarily gave me and your country. Now let’s get this done and get to the hotel so we can unwind. I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to sleeping in a real bed.”

  ***

  CeeCee stepped into the dining room of the hotel and scanned the area for the other FEMA workers.

  “Have a seat, doctor.” John stood and pulled a chair out for her to sit beside him. “What are you drinking? I was about to reorder and I’ll get yours.”

  “A glass of red wine, thanks.”

  He set the glass in front of her and sat back down. “You look…pensive. What’s up?”

  She smiled. “You read me as well as Sam did.” She coughed to hide her still raw sorrow. “I’m having a quick dinner and then I leave. My ride back to Pennsylvania leaves in an hour.”

  “Oh. I’ll miss you, CeeCee. You’re a good person and it’s been a pleasure working with you,” John said.

  “I’ll miss you too. And everyone. This was a good team. I really hate goodbyes, but I wanted to see you and Hank personally. In fact, I think I’ll skip dinner and find Hank.” She stood, leaving her wine untouched.

  “If you ever get up north to Moose Creek, look me up. I won’t be hard to find.” John reached out and gave her a hug, kissing her on the cheek.